


Graced

by AC333



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Seven Kingdoms Trilogy - Kristin Cashore
Genre: Badass Arya, F/M, graceling AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2018-11-08 08:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 102,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11078115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AC333/pseuds/AC333
Summary: Arya Stark has been able to kill a man with her bare hands since she was nine years old. She’s a Graceling, one of the rare people born with an extreme skill. As a daughter of a noble she should be able to live a life of privilege, but Graced as she is with killing, she is forced to work as the King’s thug. When she first meets Aegon Targaryen, a Graceling like her, her life changes forever.





	1. The Royal Visit

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this story for a long time and have decided to post it. This is a Game of Thrones fic focused on Arya with elements of the book Graceling by Kristin Cashore. 
> 
> All ASOIF characters belong to George R.R. Martin, and the ideas of Graceling belong to Kristin Cashore.

Arya peeked her head around the corner, sighing with relief when she saw that the coast was clear. She had just escaped from one of Septa Mordane’s sewing lessons after Mordane ruthlessly insulted Arya’s technique. Sansa and Jeyne Poole cruelly laughed while Princess Myrcella looked sympathetic. The old hag told Arya that she wouldn’t be allowed to go on her afternoon ride and that she would skip dinner. Sansa made a cruel joke and said that Arya horseface would be better off if she was born as a bastard like Jon.

Once Sansa mentioned Jon, Arya launched herself across the room, snatched up Sansa’s stitches, and threw them into the fire. She then turned and fled from the room, dodging Mordane and ignoring Sansa’s crying. She could easily outrun the Septa and any of the guards but was going to have to find a good hiding spot before her mother went looking. 

If she couldn’t go on her afternoon ride, she would have to go a little early. She snuck into her room and pulled on a pair of breeches that she stole from Bran, a tunic, and a thick cloak. She forced Nymeria to stay in her room as the wolf would only attract attention. No one usually noticed Arya if she stayed out of their way. Fat Tom, one of her father’s guards, named her Arya Underfoot, as she was always found where she wasn’t supposed to be.

Nymeria whined as she shut the door behind her. “Aha!” yelled a voice from behind her. “I knew you’d come here first. Come on, Lady Arya. Your mother is looking for you.”

Jory Cassel, the captain of her father’s guard, blocked the hallway. Arya’s room was situated at the end of the long hall so she had to get past him. She slowly walked towards Jory with her head down and said, “I didn’t mean to ruin Sansa’s stitches. Now I’m going to get in trouble.”

“It won’t be that bad, little lady. The longer you make your mother wait, the angrier she’ll get,” said Jory in a comforting tone. He held his hand out for Arya to take but she saw her opening. Jory was standing with his legs spread far enough for Arya to slide through.

She sprung off her right foot and slid through his legs, ignoring his yells of, “Arya! Come back here!”

She laughed with glee and ran down a flight of stairs, escaping into the busy yard. By the time Jory was outside, he was breathing heavily. He looked around to see Arya nowhere in sight and muttered, “I swear that girl’s Grace is escaping.”

Meanwhile, Arya found her way into an empty stable after letting loose one of the more temperamental horses. When the two stable boys ran after it, Arya smirked and headed down to the end of the stables to find the fastest horse. The stable was overflowing because the King’s caravan had brought so many.

Arya wrinkled her nose at the thought of the royal family. She avoided as much interaction with them as possible, but she was shocked to see that the kingdom was ruled by such a horrible man. She flashed back to when she met King Robert.

_She ran into line (very late, of course) with a helm on her head, her father stopping her and pulling it off.She took her spot besides Bran, shoving him aside and ignoring his glare. The King’s large group pulled into Winterfell not moments later._

_Leading the group was a man wearing white and gold armor, another man wearing a dog helm, and the Crowned Prince. Prince Joffrey smiled at Sansa as he dismounted, a blush spreading across her face. Arya rolled her eyes._

_Arya didn’t realize that King Robert had ridden in until everyone began to kneel. The man needed a stool to stumble off his horse. His face was red and blotchy either from riding or from wine. He was a huge man, and even though he looked fat he looked like he could have ben strong when he was younger. A thick beard covered his face. She glanced out of the corner of her eye to see King Robert allow everyone to stand as he looked her father up and down._

_“You’ve gotten fat,” he said. Her father simply looked the man up and down as if to say, ‘You shouldn’t be talking.’_

_The two burst out laughing and hugged. The Queen had finally gotten out of the carriage along with two other blonde haired children, Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen. Myrcella was beautiful with long blonde hair and bright green eyes. Tommen, was quite chubby and nervously looked around the courtyard._

_King Robert turned to her mother, and said, “Cat!” He gave her a large hug._

_He turned back to her father. “Nine years. Why haven’t I seen you? Where the hell have you been?”_

_“Guarding the North for you, your grace,” evenly said her father. The King laughed._

_Arya looked around the yard, confused, and quietly asked Bran, “Where’s the imp?”_

_“Will you shut up?” spat out Sansa._

_Robert began to look down the line, stopping at her oldest brother first. “You must be Robb.” They shook hands, the King seemingly pleased with Robb’s handshake._

_Next he looked at Sansa and said, “You’re a pretty one. You’ll make a good wife one day.”_

_Sansa shyly smiled and said, “Thank you, your grace.”_

_He stopped in front of Arya and Bran, his eyes widening with recognition. “You didn’t tell me you had two Gracelings,” he said, almost with a sort of disgust. Both Arya and Bran became quite uncomfortable with the King’s tone. He seemed to try and control his emotions and looked at Arya, asking, “What can you do?”_

_“I don’t know,” said Arya with a shrug. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw her mother wince at her lack of manners. She pointed at Bran and said, “He’s a warg.”_

_“What’s that?” asked the King._

_“I can see through the eyes of animals, Your Grace,” proudly said Bran._

_The King nodded and looked back at Ned. “I didn’t know you had two Gracelings,” he muttered. Arya glanced at her mother to see her pursed lips._

_The King made his way back to her father as the gold armored man jumped off his horse, removing his helm. He shook out his long blonde hair. “That’s Jaime Lannister, the Queen’s twin brother.”_

_“Would you please shut up,” hissed Sansa._

_Queen Cersei approached her mother and father at this point and they began to speak. King Robert demanded to be taken to the crypts and when Cersei challenged him, he simply ignored her._

_“Where’s the Imp?” asked Arya again._

_Cersei seemed humiliated as she walked away, but Arya heard her ask her brother, “Where is our brother? Go find the little beast.”_

Arya suddenly realized she had to saddle her horse before they checked the stables. Once she was finished, she was about to pull herself onto her horse when a voice asked behind her, “What are you doing?”

Arya whirled around and relaxed once she saw it was Prince Tommen. He was quite innocent looking, with curly blonde hair, bright green eyes, and a round face. He was wearing red and gold clothing decorated with lions. Arya noticed that all of the King’s children seemed to wear his wife’s colors more than his own.

“I’m going for a ride,” she said brusquely.

Prince Tommen stepped forward, curiously looking at the horse. “My mother never lets us ride alone,” he said. His eyes suddenly widened when they made eye contact and he said, “You’re one of Lord Stark’s children! You’re the girl with the Grace.”

“Yes,” impatiently said Arya. “I’m Arya. I have a Grace. Now will you please go? I have to leave.”

“Why aren’t your eyes blue and grey like your brother?” he asked. “Yours are quite strange. Grey and gold.”

“I don’t know,” said Arya, tapping her foot. “Look, if you’re going to ask so many questions, you should just come with me.”

Tommen’s eyes widened. “I…I don’t know,” he stammered out. “I don’t know the lands and I’m not a great rider.”

“I know the lands,” said Arya as she began to saddle the horse next to her. “Besides, I have a lot of questions of my own. Sansa wouldn’t let me ask Myrcella any of them so you’ll do.” She helped Tommen onto his horse, giving him the calmest mare in the stables.

She climbed onto her own and the two began to ride, cutting through the small alleys in between the stables and the forge. Arya led Tommen to a less used entrance. Since the guards were spread very thin today, they were able to slip by unnoticed.

Arya wanted to take off into a gallop and feel the wind on her face but Tommen was really struggling with his horse. She took him to a lake about ten miles outside of Winterfell, laughing at the awestruck look on his face.

“I thought the North was just snow,” he said breathlessly. “This is beautiful.”

“Sometimes when it’s warm enough, I come here to fish with my brothers,” said Arya. She saw Tommen’s eyes darting back and forth between her gold eye and grey eye. “What else do you want to ask?” she sighed.

Tommen sheepishly smiled and said, “What is your Grace?”

“I don’t know,” shrugged Arya. “Old Nan says some people don’t learn what their Grace is until they reach adulthood. I’m hoping I find out soon.”

Tommen nodded thoughtfully. “I think Graces are quite interesting,” he said. “Grand Maester Pycelle says that we don’t know much about them. Only that your eyes set sometime during your childhood and that Graces have some sort of extreme skill. My uncle Jaime has a sword fighting one. He has one green eye, one gold eye. I’ve always wanted one.”

“Yes, but then you have to work for a lord. I’m lucky that I’m a Stark child. Even if you don’t want to work for a lord, you’re supposed to. And the people with the dangerous Graces have to work for the King,” said Arya, wrinkling her nose.

“I didn’t know that,” said Tommen, blushing slightly “My mother stopped letting us learn about Graces.”

“Your mother doesn’t let you do a lot of things,” snorted Arya.

“That’s not nice,” said Tommen, his eyes downcast.

Arya opened her mouth to tell him that she was only jesting but Tommen seemed genuinely upset. She thought of all the times Sansa made her feel upset and she said, “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I’m sorry.”

“She’s just protecting us,” softly said Tommen.

Arya quickly changed the subject. “Come on,” she said, kicking her heels into her horse. “I want to show you some of the hot springs.”

As they were riding into the Wolfswood, they talked about their likes and dislikes; favorite food, favorite color, favorite story…Arya learned that Tommen was very sweet and was nothing like Joffrey. “What’s King’s Landing like?” she asked.

Tommen shrugged. “The city is dirty and crowded. The North is much prettier. Inside the castle is nice, though. The Red Keep is really big. There I have my cat, Ser Pounce,” he said in an excited tone.

“I’ve never had a pet cat,” said Arya. “I have Nymeria, though. I couldn’t bring her today because she’s too noticeable. Are there dragon skulls?” she asked excitedly.

“I don’t know,” said Tommen in a hesitant tone. “My father really hates dragons. Why were you sneaking out of the stables?”

Arya frowned as they ducked under a branch. “I had another stitching lesson, this time with your sister. I can’t even pretend to try anymore! I hate being a lady. Septa Mordane was especially cross with me today and told me I couldn’t go riding. And Sansa,” she sneered, “Said that I should have born a bastard.”

Tommen’s eyes widened. “My brother Joffrey can be mean too,” he said.

Arya smiled a bit. “I got back at her, though. I took her her embroidery and threw them into the fire,” said Arya. “You should have seen her face!”

Tommen and Arya laughed together, Arya realizing that she really liked the Prince. She didn’t have many friends. In fact, Jon was the only person she got along with. Robb and Theon were too busy for her, Sansa was well…Sansa, Bran was too serious and focused on his warging, and Rickon was too young. Only Jon understood her. Arya didn’t fit in anywhere. But Jon didn’t fit in anywhere either because he was a bastard.

Tommen didn’t seem like he fit in either. His father didn’t pay attention to him and his mother smothered him. And Joffrey was just horrible.

They arrived at the hot springs and Arya hopped off her horse, leaving it to graze. The two horses they took didn’t wander much. Tommen stumbled off his horse and grinned when he saw the steam rising off of the dark pools of water.

Arya pulled off her boots and rolled up her pants. She waded into the water and Tommen did the same.

“They don’t have hot springs in King’s Landing,” said Tommen.

“It’s called the Stone Springs for all the rocks in the area. I come here with my brothers sometimes. There’s a hot spring in the Godswood but this one is much bigger,” said Arya.

Tommen began to explain what the Godswood they had in King’s Landing looked like. “It’s the only wooded area in the entire city. You can even see the bay from it. I don’t think there’s a weirwood, though. It’s not old enough. I go there sometimes when my parents argue.”

Arya bent down and pulled a smooth stone out of the water, throwing it as hard as she could. The rock skipped five times before flying out of the pool. Before she could throw another, they were interrupted. 

“What do we have here?” a rough voice called out behind them. Four men wearing ragged, greasy furs grinned at Arya and Tommen. The leader smiled at them, showing a set of rotted teeth. “Two little nobles far away from home. Now…what are we going to do with you?”


	2. The Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's Grace reveals itself. King Robert makes a demand.

“Here we are, heading to a spring to clean up a little, when we stumble upon you two,” said the man, smirking. He held his hand on his dagger and with a confidently walked forward. “It must be our lucky day.” His companions laughed.

Arya clenched her fists and said, “We’ll leave.”

“No, no, no,” said the leader, pulling out a large dagger. The man was quite large and had long, greasy red hair. Arya guessed that they were bandits. Her father warned her that they often hid along trails, waiting for travelers to pass by. “Not so fast, sweetling.”

She glanced at Tommen to see that he looked absolutely terrified. Arya hardened her gaze and glared at the man. “You know, my father will reward you for bringing us back safely. With more gold than you can carry,” she promised. “Just take us back to Winterfell.”

“I’ll bet we’ll get more gold by ransoming you,” he said. “Take them.”

Two men stepped into the water, one roughly grabbing Arya by the waist and the other grabbing Tommen.

“Stop, please!” cried out Tommen.

“Awww, the little lord is scared,” laughed the ginger. He leaned over Tommen, grinning. “I see you’re a Lannister.”

The man holding Arya wretched her hands behind her back. “Leave him alone!” she yelled, trying to pull her hands out of his grip.

With a sly grin, the man stalked towards Arya, spinning the dagger in his hand. “Ah, we have a feisty one,” he said. He grabbed Arya’s hair, placing the dagger against her neck. The cold steel bit into her skin. “You’re a Graceling,” he said, studying her eyes. “What’s your Grace, sweetling?”

“I don’t know,” gritted out Arya. She tried to sound brave, but her voice trembled. 

“You don’t know?” laughed the man. “You know, I met a Graceling in a brothel in White Harbor once. You can guess what her Grace was. Maybe you’re too young to have learned yours.” He moved the dagger to her chest as he slowly began to cut open her tunic.

Without even thinking, Arya stomped her heel down, hearing the man behind her cry out in pain. That loosened his grip on her arms enough for punch the man in front of her in the neck.

The red haired man flew backwards and laid on the ground, unmoving. Before the man standing behind her could react, Arya hit his nose with the heel of her hand. His nose gushed blood and he too fell, laying still.

The third man rushed at her with an axe, wildly swinging. Arya dodged his steel and with a scream of rage, she grabbed his arm and twisted it. She heard a snap and the axe dropped to her feet. She quickly grabbed it and swung as hard as she could, gutting the man. His intestines spilled to the ground as he dropped to his knees. Blood sprayed all over her as she dropped the axe, breathing heavily.

Only one man remained. He was holding a knife against Tommen’s neck. “Back away,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’ll do it.”

“Let him go,” warned Arya. She reached down at her feet and picked up a rock, gripping it in her left hand.

“I’ll kill him!” the man screamed. Tears were streaming down Tommen’s face.

Arya simply threw the rock. It sped through the air and hit the man directly in the eye. He screamed and fell backwards into the hot spring. After moment of thrashing, he floated facedown in the water.

Arya was trembling and staring into space. “What…what just happened?” asked Tommen in a dazed tone.

Arya looked around to see that she had just killed four men with one blow each. She hunched over and emptied the contents of her stomach before running into the forest.

“Arya!” yelled Tommen behind her. “Wait! Don’t leave me here!” But Arya ran, unable to get the image of the four dead men out of her head.

* * *

Ned stood leaned against the fence with Robert, watching their two sons spar. Robb was obviously much better than Joffrey but the Prince was willing to fight dirty. Ned was proud of his son for keeping his head level as they sparred. They had gathered quite a crowd. Bran and Rickon were watching along with the Lannister brothers, the Hound, and other Lannister guards. Rodrik Cassel oversaw their sparring session, correcting the two boys when they made mistakes.

“Your son will make a good solider,” said Robert. For the first time in the entire visit, he wasn't drunk. “I’ve tried to make a warrior out of my two sons, but Joffrey is only interested in tormenting his siblings and Tommen is too much of a craven.”

“They’ll grow up,” assured Ned.

“I wish you would take up my offer,” said Robert. “I need you south, Ned. I’ll have to name Tywin Lannister the Hand of the King.”

Ned cleared his throat and said, “He may be a conniving man, but he’ll run your kingdom efficiently. I can’t go south, not now. I have to go to the Wall soon. More wildlings have been breeching than ever before.”

Robert grunted, seemingly disappointed. He was extremely angry when Ned refused the job of Hand of the King, saying he needed his old friend to run his kingdom. But the north had been unstable lately. Large groups of wildlings had been climbing over the wall. Ned planned to ride to Castle Black in a few weeks to help rebuild it. He had hoped Robert would visit the Wall but the King said it was too cold, the food was terrible, and there weren't enough whores.

Robert was still angry with him, that was plain. He told Ned that they would be leaving a week sooner than expected. He didn’t even try to give an excuse.

Before Ned had to explain anymore, a lone rider rode into the courtyard. Tommen Baratheon fell off his horse into the mud. He was covered in dirt and his clothes were torn. Jaime immediately ran over to his nephew and helped him up, asking, “What happened to you? Are you alright? Where have you been?”

Tommen’s eyes were wide and his cheeks were covered in tears. “I…I was with Arya,” he said. “I couldn’t find my way back. I got lost so many times.”

Once Ned heard his daughter’s name, he practically ran over. “Where is she?” he asked. Arya had been missing since that morning. Whenever she was about to get in trouble, she would run and hide for hours. Ned found it easier to wait for her to sneak into the kitchens for a meal than to go looking for her.

Tommen blinked a few times. “She was showing me the Stone Springs and then we were attacked and she…she killed them. And then she ran. ”

Ned didn’t even hesitate and jumped on the already saddled horse. “Tell Jory to send out a group of men!” he yelled over his shoulder, riding out of the gates.

More and more bandits had been hiding in the Wolfswood along the King’s Road. Truth be told, it wasn’t high on his list of priorities. But now it seemed that he was going to pay for it. Jaime Lannister and the Hound rode at his heels. He’d rather his own men, but they would do.

It took them almost two hours to reach the Stone Springs, but by the time they did, Ned feared they were too late. The sun was already setting as he jumped off his horse, feeling sick to his stomach.

Four men lay dead. They were bandits, he was sure of it. The Hound and Jaime Lannister got off their horses too, surveying the scene.

“Seven hells,” muttered Jaime. “Tommen said that your daughter did this.”

Ned took a closer look at the men to see that all of the men had been killed in one move.

Jaime pointed at a small pair of boots laying on the ground. “She can’t have gone that far. She didn’t even take her shoes,” he said.

Ned wasn’t too sure. When Arya was hiding, she couldn’t be found. He looked at one of the men floating in the hot springs.

“This was the daughter with the unknown Grace?” asked the Hound in a raspy tone.

“Yes,” coldly said Ned.

“It’s not unknown anymore,” said the Hound. “She’s got a killing Grace.”

Ned felt his blood run cold, knowing his daughter’s life was damned.

* * *

Arya kneeled at the stream, drinking the cold water that ran through. She splashed some on her face and tucked her arms around her knees, closing her eyes for a moment. She had been gone for three full days and was very hungry. She was eating any nonpoisonous berries and roots that she could find but the north wasn't an exotic paradise. Strangely enough, she wasn’t lost. She knew that she was about thirty miles southeast from Winterfell and guessed that she could find her way home easily enough. The first night, she had heard men calling her name and seen torches flickering in the distance. But she hadn’t heard anyone since and wondered if they stopped looking.

But she didn’t want to go home yet. What she did to those men was…unnatural. Not even Jory, the best swordsman she knew, could move that fast. No, that killing had something to do with her Grace. And she knew that people with especially dangerous Graces were sent to the capital to serve the king. But the biggest reason she didn’t want to go back was that she was afraid of how her family would react.

A twig snapped behind her and she jumped up, grabbing a rock that sat at her feet. She had done enough damage with one the last time. She nearly started sobbing when Ghost and Nymeria walked through the bushes followed by Jon. He quickly dismounted his horse and shouted, “Arya!”

When he moved forward to hug her, Arya stepped back, shaking her head. “Go away, Jon.” she said quietly. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t want to go back.” Nymeria walked over to her and began to lick dried blood off of her face. She was covered with dirt and scratches, her hair was tangled, and she wasn’t wearing any shoes. Arya wrapped her arms around the direwolf’s neck.

Jon crouched down so they were eye level, Arya flinching when he grabbed her hand. Jon frowned and let her go. “Why not, Arya? Everyone is worried about you,” he said.

Arya’s lower lip started trembling. “I didn’t want to kill those men,” she said. “But they were going to hurt me and Tommen!” she cried out. She roughly brushed the tears forming in the corner of her eyes away.

“I know what my Grace is, Jon,” she said with more solemness than a little girl should muster.

Jon knew what her Grace was too. Their father had sent out a huge group of men to help search. Some of the King’s men were helping too, although not many. Jon had split off from Robb and Theon early on and taken Nymeria with him. The wolf had tracked Arya far into the Wolfswood.

Bran’s Grace had shown himself when he was only two years old when he managed to warg into one of Maester Luwin’s ravens. But Arya didn’t know what her Grace was. Lady Stark had always told her it was the ability to get into trouble. Maester Luwin said that some people didn’t know until they reached adulthood. But three days before, they had learned that Arya had killed four bandits with her bare hands. Her Grace had finally shown itself and it she wouldn’t be able to live a normal life with it.

Jon attempted to give her a reassuring smile but he wasn’t sure she bought it. “It doesn’t matter, Arya,” he said softly. He stood up, holding out his hand. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Arya hesitantly took his hand and they got onto his horse. He wrapped his cloak around her as she rested her head against his chest, closing her eyes. Jon dreaded what was going to happen next and almost wanted to take her far away from Winterfell. But he couldn’t do that to their family.

He kicked his heels into the horse, Nymeria and Ghost following close behind. He headed back to the castle, hoping he was making the right decision.

* * *

Arya would almost look pathetic everyone wasn’t so scared of her. She was standing alone in front of King Robert who was sitting on her father’s throne in Wintefell’s Great Keep. Just as Jon rode into the courtyard, they were summoned by the King. Her father or Robb weren’t even back yet. Catelyn asked King Robert to wait, as Arya had been alone in the woods for three days, but it seemed like he was taking his anger over her father not agreeing to be Hand of the King out on Arya.

Jon’s cloak was still draped over her shoulders, dragging along the ground. She looked like a child playing dress up in clothes too big for her. Her tunic and breeches were torn and covered in dirt and dried blood. Her hair was a rat’s nest and her mismatched eyes had dark bags underneath. She was still barefoot.

“Your Grace, please. Arya has’t slept or eaten in three days. Surely this conversation can wait,” Catelyn pleaded one last time. She wanted to wait until her husband got back. Only prominent members of their families were present.

Tommen had tightly hugged Arya as soon as she appeared, thanking her for saving him. Queen Cersei quickly pulled him away and shot Arya a look filled with contempt. Jaime and Tyrion Lannister stood next to their sister but Tyrion was the only one on that side of the room who looked slightly sympathetic.

On the other side of the room stood only Jon since he was the first family member back. Many of the men searching for Arya had returned but Lord Stark and Robb were too far away.

“We’ve waited three days to hear her story,” grumbled Robert. “I’m not waiting any longer.”

“But Lord Stark isn’t here. He must hear the story too,” she said.

“Enough, Cat,” said Robert, gripping the side of the chair. He waved his hand and Catelyn shot her daughter a supporting look before she walked to the side of the room, leaving her alone. Catelyn stood near Jon, shooting the dirty look usually reserved for Ned's bastard at Robert.

Arya stood completely still, staring at her dirty feet.

“Why did you take my son outside the castle?” asked King Robert.

Arya was uncomfortable for all of the attention she was receiving and didn’t know why it seemed like she was getting in trouble. “I wanted to go for a ride,” she said quietly. “And Tommen was in the stables. He was asking me a lot of questions about the north and I told him I could show him around.”

“And you normally go riding alone?” he asked.

“I wasn’t alone. Tommen was with me,” she said impatiently. Arya was growing less afraid and more irritated with each passing minute. Why was she being interrogated?

“I won’t have you mocking me, girl,” warned Robert, clenching the armrest of the throne. "Answer my question."

They were interrupted when her father ran into the room. “What is the meaning of this?” he angrily said.

He ran over to Arya and she leapt at him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I’m sorry!” she cried out. “I’m sorry!”

“Are you hurt?” he asked, cupping her face. Arya shook her head and he turned back to King Robert. “You couldn’t wait a few hours?”

Lord Stark was extremely angry, that much was clear. He had a strange sort of anger. His grey eyes darkened and his body tensed, but he never yelled.

“I’ve waited three damn days, Ned!” yelled Robert. “Three days to find out why you allow your daughter with a _killing Grace_ to run wild!”

Arya stiffened, hearing the words, ‘killing Grace’ for the first time. She finally understood why people steered clear of her when she and Jon arrived in the courtyard.

“We don’t know that it’s a killing Grace,” said Ned in a low tone.

“Why doesn’t she tell us what happened and we can decide for ourselves?” asked Cersei. She was standing quite close to the throne.

Robert glared at his wife. “Quiet, woman,” he hissed. He looked back at Arya and said, “What did you do to those men?”

There was an uncomfortable silence, Arya looking back at her feet. She bit her lip, Ned gently squeezing her shoulder to encourage a answer.

“I wanted to show him the hot springs,” she said. “Four men came out of the woods and knew that we were royals. I tried to tell them that they could get just as much money by returning us safely, but they wouldn’t listen.” Arya bit her lip again and then continued.

“One man asked me what my Grace was. When I told him that I didn’t know, he said…he said that he met a Graceling in a whorehouse once and that maybe I was too young to know my Grace,” quietly said Arya; her voice had fallen to a whisper. Tears began to roll down her face.

“This isn’t necessary, Robert,” said Ned.

To everyone’s surprise, Tyrion Lannister spoke up, defending Arya. “There’s no need to have the girl relive the ordeal in front of everyone,” he said. “We’ve already heard it from Tommen. Why don’t—"

“SILENCE!” bellowed Robert, the room growing silent once again. “Get out now if you can’t hold your tongue. Speak!” he barked out.

Arya swallowed and nervously continued. “He tried to cut me and I just wanted to get away,” said Arya. “I didn’t mean to kill him! I only hit him in the neck and punched another one in the nose. There was another with an axe…” She closed her eyes and saw the intestines spilling onto the floor.

“The last one was holding a knife to Tommen’s neck and said he would kill him. I just wanted them to leave us alone. So I…I…I stopped him,” she said. “I d-didn’t want to kill t-them!” she cried out. Sobs started wracking her tiny frame. “T-they were going to h-hurt us!”

Robert ignored her sobbing, standing up from the throne. “My party leaves tomorrow,” he said. “Make sure your daughter is ready.”

Ned’s blood ran cold as he looked at his wife; her face paled as soon as she heard Robert’s command. “Don’t do this, Robert,” Ned said in an icy tone.

“My mind is already made up,” said the king, walking over to Lord Stark. Ned let go of his daughter’s hand and stepped forward, the two standing a foot apart. “A killing Grace will serve the realm well.”

“She’s nine years old! You can’t do this,” hissed Ned.

“The Laws of Gods and Men give the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms first decision in choosing any Graceling to serve for him, regardless of a Lord’s claim. The King may choose at his absolute discretion,” recited Robert. Everyone in the room was quite surprised that he actually remembered a law in whole. “You already refused to serve me. Another Stark will just have to take your place.”

With that, Robert left the room, the Lannisters tailing behind. Tommen looked like he wanted to say something to Arya but Tyrion pulled his nephew away, knowing it wasn’t the right time. Catelyn ran over to her daughter as she and Ned pulled Arya to a hug. She wanted to break down and cry with her little girl but knew she had to stay strong for her sake.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and tucked into bed, sweetling,” said Catelyn. Arya was still a sobbing mess but her father picked her up, carrying her to her chambers.

* * *

After she had taken a bath to get all of the mud and blood off, her mother brushed her hair and began to tuck her into bed. Her father walked into the room a few moments later, giving her a tired smile.

“You were very brave today, Arya,” he said. “I am very proud of you.”

Arya was exhausted, that much was plain. Nymeria was laying at the foot of her bed, the wolf’s head resting on her feet. She had stopped crying, but the tears lurked behind a fragile voice. “I didn’t mean to hurt those men,” she said quietly.

“We know,” said Catelyn, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “Just try and get some rest.”

“I don’t want to go south,” choked out Arya, suddenly sobbing again. “I never wanted a Grace! What are they going to make me do?”

Catelyn had finally started crying too. “You are going to protect the realm,” said Ned, a lump forming in his throat. “You will be a great honor for house Stark.”

“Please d-don’t make me go,” whimpered Arya. “P-please, I don’t want to. I promise I’ll be good. I won’t throw Sansa’s stitches in the f-fire. And I’ll l-listen m-m-more.”

She began to hyperventilate because she was crying so hard. Her mother sat at the foot of the bed and began to stroke her hair. “Hush, Arya. You need your rest. It’s not your fault,” she whispered. “It’s not your fault.”

She repeated the phrase until Arya finally passed out from exhaustion. Ned and Catelyn quietly left the room, Catelyn covering her mouth with her hand when she let out a loud sob.

“That’s how children deal with terror,” softly said Ned. “They fall asleep.”

“How can he do this to you?” she angrily asked as her husband wrapped an arm around her shoulders, walking her back to their chambers. She wiped at her eyes. “You two were like brothers!”

“He’s punishing me through her,” said Ned with a tight voice. “He’s angry that I didn’t want to be Hand of the King to fix his mess.”

“How did this happen?” she asked. “How did our little girl get cursed with a killing Grace?”

Ned found that he had no answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your kind comments and kudos! I got this one up as quick as possible. 
> 
> A couple of things:  
> 1\. Aegon will not be appearing until the sixth or seventh chapter. I know it is a long wait, but it is the most natural introduction to his character.  
> 2\. I will try to update every week or so (more once the story is completed).  
> 3\. At times, characters may appear OOC.


	3. Goodbyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya says goodbye to each family member and arrives at her new home.

She wondered if this was the last time that she would break fast with her family. The Starks (except Jon) sat around the table in her father's solar. Arya had woken up early to pack. Well, her mother and Sansa had done most of the packing. Arya hadn’t spoken a word since she got up. She simply stared at her plate, barely listening to Bran’s dream. She missed Jon and was a little hurt that he didn’t want to see her.

Arya pushed her plate away. “I’m not hungry,” she said quietly. She slowly stood up and began to walk out of the room, hanging her head. 

“Arya,” her mother said. “You barely ate anything.”

“Let her go, Cat,” said Ned.

Before she got far, Robb came running out of their father’s chambers, holding Rickon. He asked if she wanted to accompany them to the Godswood. She complied but purposely avoided the courtyard where preparations were being made for travel. She had a few hours left before their party departed and was going to spend it in the places she loved.

She held Rickon’s hand as they walked through the trees, finally arriving at the weirwood tree. She climbed up to the first branch and had Robb pass her Rickon. He joined her a moment later. The three sat in the tree, watching the wolves wrestle. 

Rickon was the only family member who wasn't sad, but only because he was too young to understand what was happening. 

“You always wanted to travel, right Arya?” Robb asked. Arya turned to him to see that he looked a bit nervous, as if he was choosing his words carefully.

Arya nodded.

“Think of this as an adventure,” he said. “You and Nymeria will travel the Seven Kingdoms together.”

Arya tried to smile. “I guess I can see it like that.”

“When you pass the Trident, make sure you look for Rhaegar’s rubies for me,” he joked. He pulled Arya into a hug, Rickon squished in between them.

* * *

Bran found the three leaving the Godswood and simply grabbed Arya’s hand, pulling her along until they reached the Broken Tower.

Arya craned her neck back and looked up, saying, “I’m not that good of a climber.”

Bran shot her a mischievous grin and shot back, “Or you’re just afraid to lose. First one to the tower wins!” He began to climb, Arya muttering under her breath and following behind. At first, she followed directly behind Bran up the entire tower. She made sure she put her hands exactly where he did.

But when they were right below windowsill of the tower, Arya saw an opening to pass Bran. She simply shouted, “Bran, help! I’m slipping!”

When he turned to help her, she was able to scramble up the windowsill and pull herself up. Bran grumbled, “Cheater,” but took a seat beside her as the looked out at Winterfell.

“Don’t let them scare you,” he suddenly said. Arya looked back at him, confused. “You’re more powerful than any of them, Arya. Remember that.”

“I hate being a Graceling,” she said.

Bran stared out at the castle. “I’ve been lying about my Grace,” he suddenly said. “I thought it was warging in the beginning, but I read in one of the books in the library that wargs aren’t Gracelings.”

“Then what are you?” asked Arya.

“Sometimes when I dream something, it happens the next day. Or I’ll dream about the history lessons Maester Luwin gives us, except I’ll be there. In every dream, I see a three eyed Raven who speaks to me,” explained Bran. “I haven’t told anyone this.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” said Arya. “If the King thinks he can use your Grace, he’ll take you to King’s Landing too.”

“I’ll come visit,” promised Bran. “I’ve always wanted to be a member of the Kingsguard. Maybe I’ll wait until Robert dies before I take my vows.”

Arya laughed, glad no one was around to hear.

* * *

After she and Bran climbed down from the tower, she went to the glass gardens for the last time. She knew that Winterfell was the only place in the world with a castle that used hot springs to heat its walls and would miss the feeling of warmth. She found Sansa in the glass gardens, staring at the blue winter roses. Lady laid at her feet. Nymeria went beside her sister, snuggling up to her.

Sansa had been avoiding her for hours. She barely made eye contact with her that morning. Arya sat down on the bench next to her sister.

“Father says I can go to King’s Landing soon too,” said Sansa. “Once I flower they’ll try to start making matches. I think that’d be nice, living in the capital together.”

“I’d rather stay in Winterfell,” grumbled Arya.

“King’s Landing is beautiful, Arya,” gushed Sansa. “The Red Keep overlooks the bay. All of the buildings have red clay roofs. And they throw the most extravagant parties!”

Arya almost snapped at her sister then and there, telling her that she should go to King’s Landing instead but Sansa continued.

“I’ve heard that there are a lot of secret passages in the castle,” said Sansa. “Maybe you’ll learn your way around and be able to scare visiting lords and ladies. Do you remember when Robb brought us down into the crypts? Me, you, and Bran? Rickon wasn’t even born yet. We only had one candle between us and Robb took us all the way down to the end. Then the spirit jumped out, pale white and moaning for our blood.”

Arya began to smile.

“I ran for the stairs and Bran wrapped himself around Robb’s leg, sobbing. You only punched the ghost. It was Jon covered in flour. Maybe you can do the same in the Red Keep,” said Sansa.

Arya raised her eyebrows at Sansa, surprised her sister was suggesting something so scandalous when she realized that Sansa was trying to make King’s Landing seem more appealing.

Sansa patted her hand. “Princess Myrcella is quite nice. And you and Tommen seem to be getting along well,” she said. “Perhaps the three of you will become friends. You make friends very easily, Arya. I’m sure you’ll have plenty in King’s Landing.”

* * *

Arya walked up to her room again, realizing she only had an hour before they would leave for King’s Landing. She saw her mother frantically moving throughout the room, checking all of her trunks to make sure that everything was packed.

“We did this already, mother,” said Arya. She shut the door behind her and Nymeria. She walked over to her vanity and sat down. She began to dig through the doors, pulling out a dagger she had stolen from the armory.

“Where did you get that?” asked Catelyn.

Arya simply shrugged. “If I have a killing Grace I should have a weapon,” she said.

Catelyn wrapped her daughter in a hug. “You’re not a killer, Arya. You’re my sweet girl. My wild, clever, sweet girl.”

 _Ask those four men if I am a killer_ , thought Arya.

“We don’t want to send you, Arya,” said her mother. “You know that, don’t you?”

“But you are sending me,” pointedly said Arya.

Catelyn pulled a brush off the vanity and gently began to brush her hair. After she finished she fixed it into a simple northern braid that hung straight down her back.

“If your father refused to send you, he would be breaking the Laws of Gods and Men,” she said. “He would be removed as Warden of the North and our family would be exiled, maybe even killed.”

She clasped Arya’s hands. “Your name may be Stark, but you are half Tully. You know my family’s words: Family, Duty, Honor. I was a woman grown before I truly understood what they meant,” she admitted. “You’ll understand what they mean earlier than you should.”

“Will you come visit?” Arya asked hopefully.

Her mother pulled her into a hug and placed a kiss on her forehead. “Of course, sweetling,” she said. “I love you, Arya. You’ll always be my little wolf.”

* * *

When Jon finally summoned enough courage to visit, he almost turned around and fled when he ran into Catelyn coming out of her room. Her mouth tightened when she saw Jon.

“Lady Stark,” he said quietly. He held a long, skinny package in his hands. “I’m just going to say goodbye to Arya.”

“She has to leave soon. Make it quick,” she snapped. “Don’t make her anymore upset than she already is.”

“She’s my sister. I have a right to say goodbye to her,” defensively said Jon.

“Half-sister,” spat out Catelyn. She stepped aside to let Jon into the room. When he reached for the handle, she called out, “Jon.”

Jon warily turned, wondering what else the woman had to say.

“It should have been you.” Then she turned and walked down the hall. She began to weep, her whole body shaking with the sobs. Jon had never seen her cry before.

He blinked a few times before opening the door.

Arya ran over to Jon and saw that his eyes were red and puffy. The same as hers. He had been crying the night before, that much was obvious.

“Arya,” he said. He opened his arms and Arya jumped into them. They walked into her room and shut the door, sitting on the bed together.

“I don’t want to go south, Jon,” she said quietly. She looked down at her hands. “Mother and father say they would never send me there but the king ordered it.”

“I don’t want you to go south either,” he said sadly. “I begged father to let me go with you but he said that King Robert isn’t allowing anyone else to come.”

“I’m going to the Wall,” he said suddenly. “There’s no point in me staying here anymore. It’s the only place in Westeros where I don’t have to serve him. The Night’s Watch takes no parts in the squabbles of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Uncle Benjen will be there,” she said. “I want to go to the Wall with you. I want to see a wildling.”

Jon smiled a bit, shaking his head. “You’ll have to cut your hair to come visit me at Castle Black. I’ll know my way around by then. I’ll be a sworn brother. You can stop at Winterfell and bring Bran along too and we can go out walking beyond the Wall.” Jon suddenly pulled out a long, skinny package from under the covers. “I got you something,” he said.

He placed it in her lap and she slowly opened the paper, eyes widening when she saw a long, skinny sword. She pulled it out of its sheath, smiling at the steel. Arya suddenly stood up and began waving the sword around.

“It’s a Braavosi blade,” said Jon. “I begged Mikken to make it for you. It won't hack a man's head off, but it can poke him full of holes if you're quick enough.”

“I can be quick,” said Arya, her eyes widening with excitement.

“First lesson: Stick em’ with the pointy end,” said Jon with a grin. It suddenly fell from his face. “I’m going to miss you.”

Arya hugged him again. “You’ll look good in black. That was always your color,” she said solemnly.

Jon looked away before she could see his tears and said in a hoarse tone, “All of the best swords have names.”

“Sansa can have her needles. I have a needle of my own.”

Jon mussed her hair one last time and slowly walked out of the room. Arya didn’t realize that she wouldn’t see her brother for another decade.

* * *

Arya was laying in her bed when her father walked into the room, wrapped in her furs. Her fingers were wrapped around her new sword, _Needle._ Nymeria was laying on the bed beside her, seemingly sensing her mood.

“Where did you get that?” asked Ned. He slowly reached out and took the sword, examining the steel. “That’s Mikken’s mark. This is no toy.”

“I’m not going to play with it,” she said. She sat up in the bed. “It’s called _Needle.”_

“And who are you hoping to skewer with _Needle_?” he asked in an amused tone. “Do you know the first thing about sword fighting?”

“Stick ‘em with the pointy end,” she said in a determined tone.

Ned laughed. “That’s the essence of it.”

“I shouldn’t have gone riding,” she said quietly.

“Darling, listen to me,” he said. “You didn’t do anything wrong. This is my fault. King Robert came to Winterfell to ask me to be his Hand. I angered him the moment I refused his offer. Finding out about your Grace only gave him a reason to punish me.”

“Then he shouldn’t be king!” she shouted.

Her father’s face grew white. “You mustn’t be loose with your tongue in King’s Landing. You have a wildness in you, child. ‘The wolf blood’, my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it and my brother Brandon more than a touch. It brought them both to an early grave,” he said grimly.

She had opened her mouth to argue but shut it once she heard him mention his siblings. Growing up she heard about Lyanna and Brandon from everyone around Winterfell…except her father. Lord Stark only mentioned his siblings once or twice in passing before. She had learned most of what she knew about them from other people. She laughed in Old Nan’s face once when she told her that she resembled Lyanna.

“It’s time,” he said solemnly.

Arya slowly got out of her bed and pulled a cloak over her shoulders, securing it with a silver direwolf pin she had gotten for her nameday. Ned handed her her sword to slip through her belt.

For the first time in years, she reached for her father’s hand. He gave it a squeeze. She took one last look at her room before they walked downstairs to the courtyard.

It was madness. Carriages were being filled last minute with trunks. Arya saw the Queen’s gigantic wheelhouse halfway across the courtyard. Her father lead her over to a horse in the corner of the yard where a horse was waiting. It was the fastest horse in Winterfell’s stables that she was never allowed to ride. Her mother said that she rode to recklessly with a horse that fast.

Her entire family was waiting. She was looking for Jon but was extremely disappointed to realize that he already left for Castle Black.

Her mother wrapped her into a hug and began to explain what clothes she packed and that she must stay with the group. “Be careful. I love you,” she said.

Sansa slowly walked over next. “I’ll come visit you soon,” she promised. She grabbed Arya’s hand and squeezed.

Robb walked over with Rickon. Rickon handed her a rock he was clutching in his hand with a grin. Arya patted his head and thanked him, slipping the rock into her pocket. Robb gave her a large hug. “Be safe, little wolf,” he said.

Bran walked over last, looking as wise as ever. “Don’t be afraid, sister,” he said. “You’ll have Nymeria with you.”

Her father was last. He lifted her up onto the saddle as she slipped her feet into the stirrups. “Remember our words,” he said.

“Winter is coming,” she responded, biting her lip.

“That’s right. You’re a Stark, Arya. Don’t forget that.”

She heard shouting as horses and carriages began to file out of the courtyard. Arya was unsure of where to go when two familiar faces rode up to her.

Tommen Baratheon and his uncle Tyrion Lannister rode to her corner of the courtyard. She noticed that her family tensed with their presence but she was happy to see some friendly faces.

“Lady Arya,” said Tyrion with a nod of his head. “Would you be so kind to ride with my nephew and I along the King’s Road? It would be nice to have a guide who knows the land.”

Arya cocked her head with confusion. “I thought you were going to ride in the wheelhouse,” she said to Tommen.

He blushed a bit, thinking back to earlier that morning.

_His Uncle Tyrion asked him to come to the library after his morning meal. Tommen wasn’t very sure where to go but eventually found his way. He was surprised to see how large Winterfell’s library was. Many of the books on the shelves looked extremely old._

_He found his uncle at a corner table, flipping through a scroll. “Hello, Uncle,” he said. “You wanted to speak with me?”_

_“Tommen,” Tyrion said brightly. “Pull up a chair.” Tommen dragged the heavy wooden seat over and sat down._

_“You’re going to have a very important job on our trip home,” said Tyrion._

_“I thought you were going to the Wall,” said Tommen in a confused tone. “You said you wanted to…to piss off the edge of the world,” he said with a blush._

_Tyrion laughed. “I suppose I did. But I decided I would be better suited traveling south again. It’s much to cold in Winterfell. I can’t imagine what the Wall is like,” he said with a shudder. “It will be Lady Arya’s first time away from home. She will have no family or friends on this journey. What’s worse is she didn’t get to choose to leave home. You will ride with her all the way to King’s Landing.”_

_“Mother won’t like that,” said Tommen, biting his lip. “I’m not a very good rider.”_

_Tyrion patted his nephew on the back. “Nonsense! You’re a much better rider than your brother Joffrey!” Tommen smiled. “I already spoke to your father and said you wanted to ride on your own. He agreed that it was a good idea.”_

_“Why is father making Arya leave Winterfell?” asked Tommen._

_“She’s a Graceling,” said Tyrion in a serious tone. “My brother was summoned to King’s Landing in a similar way with the Mad King.”_

_“I can be her friend,” said Tommen in a determined tone. “I think I’d like to have a friend.”_

_Tyrion smiled broadly at his nephew. “I knew you’d agree! Now go back to your room before your mother comes looking,” he said with a wink._

_Tommen laughed and ran off._

“I want to learn how to ride better. I don’t get much practice in the city and you’re the best rider I know,” he said.

Arya blinked a few times. “Ok,” she said in an unsure tone.

“Lead the way!” exclaimed Tyrion.

Arya took one last uncertain look over her shoulder, looking at her family. She kicked her horse into a gallop and took off, hoping Tyrion and Tommen could keep up. Nymeria bounded beside her. The King’s party had already traveled a few miles down the road by the time they passed through the gates.

Arya stopped on a hill outside the castle, gazing at Winterfell. Tyrion and Tommen joined her a few minutes later. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I won’t go so fast.”

Tyrion shot her a sympathetic look. She didn’t realize she was crying until he handed her a handkerchief. The three took off at a slower pace, determined to catch up with the King’s slow party. Arya clutched the reigns tightly in her hands, feeling sadder than she ever had before.

By the time they had been traveling for three days, her sadness was replaced with a deep-rooted anger that wouldn’t leave her until she left King’s Landing for good.

* * *

Arya hated King’s Landing from the moment they rode through the city’s gates. The smell of human waste and rotted fish was so strong that Nymeria hesitated to pass through the gates. Arya had to let out a short whistle for the direwolf to follow. A thin sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead; the city was much hotter than she expected. Cersei insisted that Tommen ride in the wheelhouse today and she had lost Tyrion a few miles outside of the city.

 _This is my new home_ , she thought bitterly as she passed three beggars outside of every building. It was more crowded than she expected and most of the citizens seemed to be wearing rags. She saw a lot of men wearing Gold Cloaks beating people who were out of line. More and more people began to file off of their progression until it was just the nobles, the guards, and the servants who worked in the castle.

Arya stayed towards the back of the group, clenching her reigns tightly. They began to make their way up a steep hill until a large castle made of pale red stone began to loom into sight. It was smaller than Wintefell, Arya noticed, but its towers were quite tall. She counted seven and saw that the castle had extremely fortified walls.

She remembered what Maester Luwin had taught her about the castle. Aegon the Conqueror had commanded it built. His son Maegor the Cruel had seen it completed. Afterward he had taken the heads of every stonemason, woodworker, and builder who had labored on it. Only the blood of the dragon would ever know the secrets of the fortress the Dragonlords had built, he vowed.

They passed through the gates and people began to dismount horses, walking off to where they were needed. Trunks were beginning to get unloaded. Arya dismounted her horse, feeling a familiar pang of loneliness. She patted Nymeria on the head as the wolf seemed to sense how upset she was, gently nuzzling it. The wolf followed closely behind Arya as she walked over to the wheelhouse.

The royal family, minus Robert, were stretching outside. She walked over to Tommen who gave her an ernest smile.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

Before she could answer, Joffrey sneered, “It’s certainly much better than that pile of stone you call Winterfell.”

Arya noticed the corner of Cersei’s mouth turn upwards at that jab. Arya narrowed her eyes and said, “It’s much smaller.”

The mocking grin fell from Joffrey’s face and it was replaced with a glare. Before he could say anything, his mother placed a hand on his arm. “Come, children,” she said, rolling her eyes at Arya’s muddied clothes. “We’ve had a long journey. It’s time to get some rest.”

They began to make their way to their chambers. Arya started to follow when Cersei stopped and turned, raising an eyebrow.

“You don’t actually think we would allow a Graceling to stay in the royal apartments, do you?” she asked in a condescending tone. A smug smile made its way onto her face. “You may be a Stark, but you are not like us.”

Arya clenched her fists as Nymeria took a step forward, growling at the Queen. The triumphant look disappeared from her face as Arya made eye contact with her. “Nymeria,” said Arya in a sharp tone, silencing the wolf. “Sit.” The direwolf sat, still staring at Cersei.

Cersei quickly turned on her heels, guiding her children away. “Find Lady Arya a room!” she called over her shoulder to one of the servants that was scurrying around.

“I have your trunks,” said an overweight servant pushing a cart. “Follow me, m’lady.”

Arya followed the man as he lead her into the castle. There were many suits of armor, stag, and lion tapestries within its halls. The Red Keep was beautifully decorated but she noticed many empty spots where paintings or statues used to stand.

There were a ton of servants moving throughout the castle, cleaning or carrying things. The servant lead her to a emptier part of the castle that seemed to be less decorated. He opened a door to reveal a large but bare room. She was happy to see that it had a balcony that overlooked the bay. The man dropped the bags in the doorway, bowed, and bolted, avoiding eye contact. Arya finally realized that he was uncomfortable with her Grace.

Arya shut the door and sat on the bed, Nymeria jumping up beside her. She thought of their journey south. She avoided the King as much as possible. Tommen and Tyrion were pleasant company but she missed her family more than anything. Joffrey did anything and everything to make her life miserable, whether it was stealing her riding boots so she would have to ride barefoot an entire day (and she still rode better than him) or calling her “Arya horseface”. She felt betrayed that Sansa had told him about that.

Cersei glanced at her with disgust every time she walked by. She wasn’t invited to any meals and didn’t get a bed in any of the inns they slept in. Tyrion always found a small tent for her and Nymeria to stay in. She didn’t know why he was looking out for her but was grateful that there was one adult that seemed to care.

The few times she did interact with Robert, it almost seemed like he was unsure of what to do with her. Like he had ordered her to travel south without thinking of what her role would be.

What’s worse was that she struggled to find a place among the common people. They seemed to recognize that she was “the little Stark girl with the killing Grace”. Her grey and gold eyes were too unique to pretend to have another Grace. She wondered what the King was going to make her do. She knew that people with fighting Graces worked to protect the King or lords but since she was a lady, she was unsure of what her role would be.

She pulled back her furs and slipped into bed, wishing she had anything but a killing Grace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of your support! New one should be up in a week.


	4. The Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya loses one friend and learns a lesson. The Hand arrives in King's Landing.

She stood with a large, heavy sword in her hands and armor that hung loosely around her tiny frame. She stood in the training yard, listening to Ser Barristan Selmy drone on about the importance of keeping her sword up.

She had only been in King’s Landing for three weeks and the king had insisted that she begin to “learn how to use her Grace”. She trained for three hours a day, often with a different Knight, and then had two hour lessons with one of the Red Keep's Maesters below. Cersei insisted that only her children could use the Grand Maester for their lessons so Arya never learned from Grand Maester Pycelle (she didn’t mind too much; the man was a complete imbecile).

“Again,” Ser Barristan said, having Arya hit a practice dummy with a dulled sword. Arya swung with impressive accuracy for a young girl, looking up to Selmy to see how she did. He smiled and said, “You learn quickly.”

Arya gave the man a tentative smile back. He was her favorite knight to train with and always treated her kindly. “You did well today, Arya. You can put your sword and shield away in the armory.”

Arya quickly nodded and ran off, her heels kicking up dust in the dirt. She let out a sharp whistle and Nymeria followed. She wanted to get out of her armor as quickly as possible so she could see what Tommen was up to. The two had started spending a lot more time together and although Tommen could be very babyish at times, Arya liked him. They spent their time exploring the castle, playing in the Godswood, and bothering servants. 

She walked into the empty armory and placed her sword and armor back where they belonged, Nymeria licking her hand as they walked to the door.

Before she exit, she almost walked right into Joffrey. She quickly took a step back as he blocked the door. Joffrey sneered down at her and said, “Coming back from another one of your lessons?”

She stepped past him with her head down until she heard a clattering noise behind her. Arya slowly turned to see twenty helmets scattered across the floor. Joffrey leaned against the wall and grinned. “You can’t leave the armory a mess. Pick them up,” he ordered.

“You knocked them down,” simply said Arya. Joffrey had tried to bully her along the King’s Road but an adult was always around so he never went too far. Arya was quite familiar with this tactic, as Sansa would do the same at Winterfell. She knew that she couldn’t back down to him. “You can pick them up.”

A smile crept onto his face. “You’re disobeying the prince’s orders. That’s reason for punishment,” he said.

Joffrey stepped forward and Arya clenched her fists. “Pick them up,” he said, this time in a much sharper tone.

“No,” defiantly spat out Arya.

Joffrey grabbed her arm and threw her onto the rough floor. She skidded across, feeling her elbows scrape. He cocked his foot back and was about to deliver a vicious kick to her stomach when she heard Nymeria growl behind her.

In a silver blur, the wolf launched herself at him, latching onto his arm while growling and shaking her head. Joffrey screamed in terror and pain. “Get it off!” he shrieked in a high voice. “Get it off!”

Arya let Nymeria tear at his arm for another few seconds before calling, “Nymeria. To me.” The direwolf immediately let go of Joffrey and took her place besides Arya. The hair on the back of the direwolf's neck was still standing up and her teeth were bared.

Joffrey was laying on the floor, howling in pain. “Get help! I need help!” he cried.

Arya took a step towards Joffrey and menacingly said, “Don’t bother me anymore.”

Then she turned on her heels and fled, Nymeria following behind them. She needed to find a way out of the castle without getting caught. She knew they would kill Nymeria for touching the prince, even if he deserved it. Every exit was guarded and Nymeria wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.

She was about to turn a corner when she heard a group of soldiers running down the hall. She quickly ducked down a dark passage with Nymeria, the two silent running down a large set of stairs. She crouched in the dark corner with Nymeria and waited for the voices to pass. Once they did, Arya stepped into another room and almost gasped when she came face to face with monsters. 

The skulls were made of smooth black bone. The largest one was so big that a man on a horse could ride through its jaws. It’s teeth were as big as Arya was tall. Arya hesitantly reached out and touched the shiny bone, quickly letting go. Although the beasts were dead, she had a feeling they didn’t want her there.

She heard voices again and hid in the mouth of a beast. She twisted her fingers in Nymeria’s fur and waited until her legs cramped. When she heard more voices, this time coming towards her, and light flickering down the hall, she fled through the jaws of the biggest dragon to find a door. She quickly opened and shut it behind her and Nymeria and found herself in complete darkness. Nymeria licked her hand for support and they began to walk forward.

She slowly took each step, making sure her foot hit solid ground before she moved again. She dragged her hand along the tunnel’s wall for support. She lost track of time. Slowly, the stone tunnel turned into dirt supported by timbers. She supposed that her and Nymeria had been walking for hours at this point. The smell in the tunnel got worse and worse and she started to walk in knee deep water. She realized she was in a sewer tunnel. Eventually, she and Nymeria found themselves at the mouth of a sewer drain outside of King’s Landing’s gates. She saw that the sun had just started to rise and realized that she had been in the tunnels for nearly twelve hours. The water flowed into Blackwater Bay. Arya hopped onto the small, sandy beach and dove into the water to get rid of the smell. It was the first time that she had swam in the ocean. Nymeria did the same.

The two found themselves sitting on the beach, Arya’s face buried in her fur. 

“You’ve got to go,” she mumbled into Nymeria. “They’ll kill you for what you did to Joffrey. If I try to escape with you they’ll keep looking.”

Nymeria cocked her head and whined, the wolf’s golden eyes fixated on her own.

Arya suddenly scrambled up, pointing to the woods outside of the city. “Go!” she shouted. “Run. Leave now!”

Nymeria took a few steps away before looking back. Her ears were back and her tail was between her legs. Arya picked up a rock and threw it. “GO!” she screamed one last time.

Nymeria whined and ran off. Arya didn’t look back until she was safely in the woods. She took one look at the sewer and shuddered, deciding to get back into the city by walking through the main gates. It was well past dawn by the time she found an entrance to the city and she could see that it was wide awake.

Two young guards stood at the portcullis with large shields, swords, and red cloaks. Arya wondered why there were only Lannister guards in King’s Landing.

They glared down at her. “Off with you. We don’t need any beggar Gracelings.”

“I’m not a beggar. I live here,” she said impatiently.

“D’you want a smack on your ear to help with your hearing?” spat out the other guard. “Go on.”

“I want to go to the Red Keep,” she insisted.

“I want to fuck the Queen, for all the good it does me,” said the first guard. He elbowed his friend who laughed.

“We don’t need more dirty Gracelings running around the city. What can you do, boy? Climb a tree,” the guard taunted.

“I’m not a boy!” yelled Arya. “I’m Arya Stark of Winterfell and if you lay a hand of me, you learn what my Grace really is. Now are you going to let me in, or do I need to smack you on the ear to help with your hearing?”

The guards’s eyes widened with realization once they heard her name and saw her grey and golden eyes. The guards silently escorted her to the Red Keep, leaving plenty of space between them. Everyone knew about Arya Stark, the girl with the killing Grace. She felt a hole in her chest, missing Nymeria, but had no tears left to cry. _This is Joffrey’s fault_ , she thought angrily.

When they finally arrived at the castle, she noticed that the courtyard was filled with a lot more people and guards than usual. They took her to the Great Hall where everyone was waiting.

She walked through the hall alone with her head down, stopping below a set of stairs. When she finally looked up, she saw the Iron Throne for the first time. The chair was everything that she expected. Hundreds of swords were melted together to form a seat fit for the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. The king, however, was not what she expected.

His face was red with anger or with wine (or with both, she supposed) as a golden crown sat crooked on his head. Cersei and Joffrey stood next to him, Joffrey’s arm wrapped in thick bandages. The rest of the court stood on the ground below the throne. Another man wearing ornate red and yellow clothing stood to the right of Robert.

“Do you know the amount of trouble you’ve caused, girl?” growled Robert. “Explain yourself.”

Arya blinked a few times. “Does it matter what I say?" she asked. "Joffrey already told you what happened."

“You will address him with his title, you little beast,” hissed Cersei.

“I should say the same to you, Your Majesty,” fired back Arya.

Cersei turned to Robert, her green eyes blazing. “Insubordination cannot stand in our court!” she yelled. “She sicced her dog on the heir to the Iron Throne. I want her punished.”

“This is my court, Cersei!” yelled Robert, his face turning redder. “Not ‘ours’. You’ll do well to learn your place, woman.” He turned back to Arya. “Start from the beginning.”

“I finished my lesson and was putting away my sword and armor when I saw Joffrey. He wanted me to clean his mess and when I said I wouldn’t he pushed me,” said Arya with a sigh. “Nymeria didn’t like that. So she bit him.”

“Liar!” shouted Joffrey. “She’s a dirty Graveling and a lying cunt!”

“Enough, Joffrey!” yelled the king. He glared at Arya again. “You aren’t allowed outside of the Red Keep unaccompanied anymore.”

 _I wasn’t allowed outside before_ , thought Arya.

“Where is the wolf?” asked Cersei.

“She’s gone,” said Arya. “She ran away.”

Cersei narrowed her eyes at Arya. “One hundred golden dragons to the man who can bring me the pelt of that direwolf!” she called out. She turned back to Robert. “I want her punished.”

“What will you have me do?” sarcastically asked Robert. “Have her whipped through the streets? Children fight. It’s done.”

Joffrey’s face twisted with anger. “You’re letting her get away with this? We should kill her!” he yelled.

The man besides Robert suddenly pointed to the door. “The prince is tired,” he said. “Escort him to his chambers, Cersei.”

“What?” screamed Joffrey. “You’re only the Hand of the King! I’ll be King one day and you’ll work for me!”

“Anyone who proclaims that they are a king is no true king,” simply said the man. Arya realized that the Hand had finally arrived from Casterly Rock and that she was standing before the man her father hated most in the world: Tywin Lannister. Cersei simply grabbed Joffrey’s arm and pulled him from the room, glaring at Arya one last time.

The man stared at Arya as she tried to hide the smile that was forming on her face. “Your Grace, I’d like to have a word with the girl privately,” he said.

“Go,” said Robert with a wave of his hand. “Get her out of my sight.”

The man walked down the steps leading up to the throne and walked passed Arya. She began to follow him, shooting a nervous glance at Tyrion. His look of worry didn’t do anything to calm her down.

“Girl,” suddenly said Robert in a low tone. Arya stopped and turned, looking back at Robert. The red-faced anger was gone, this time replaced with a more subdued type. That was the anger that scared Arya. “If you ever lay a hand on my son again, I’ll have you whipped until your back is a bloody mess.”

“As you say, Your Grace,” said Arya with a clumsy curtsey. Though she answered respectfully, her voice dripped with sarcasm as if to say, _I will never let anyone touch me, let alone whip me._ Robert didn’t seem to notice.

They left the Great Hall, silently walking through the castle. Arya was exhausted but was determined not to let it show. The Hand walked at a quick pace and Arya was practically running to follow. He lead her to a set of round stairs that went up a tower. The Tower of the Hand. Finally, they arrived at what she presumed was his solar and he gestured for her to sit. He took his place behind a desk.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

Arya didn’t answer, unsure of how to act around this man. She got a better look at him. He had thinning blonde hair and a blonde beard on his face. Although he was old, he seemed fit for his age. His eyes were green and piercing, just like everyone in his family. But it was his eyes that worried Arya. They seemed to tear into her, noticing every little flaw. All of a sudden she was almost self conscious about her stained clothing and wild hair.

Her stomach growled, answering his question. He rang a bell and ordered a servant to bring more food than Arya could ever eat.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked.

“You’re Tywin Lannister,” Arya said reluctantly. “Warden of the West and lord of Casterly Rock. Now you’re Hand of the King.”

“And you’re Arya Stark. Youngest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North,” he said. “And you have a Grace.”

“Yes,” bitterly said Arya. “The Grace that got me into this mess.”

“Most girls would kill for a chance to live in the Red Keep,” said Tywin. "This is the seat of the most important family in Westeros."

“Most girls are idiots,” snorted Arya. She suddenly grew quieter as she thought,  _I liked my family in Winterfell._

The corner of his mouth twitched, almost as if he was amused. “I take it you don’t like most songs. Jonquil with the flowers in her hair?” said Tywin.

“I like the stories about the dragons,” said Arya with a small smile.

“A student of history, are you?” he asked. “Do you read about Aegon Targaryen often?”

“And his sisters,” said Arya.

Tywin raised an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t just Aegon who rode a dragon. His two sisters rode with him. Rhaenys rode Meraxes. Visenya rode Vhagar. Visenya Targaryen was a great warrior. She had a Valyrian steel sword she called _Dark Sister_. I like those kinds of stories. I really liked the one about Queen Nymeria. She conquered Dorne with ten thousands ships and sent all of the kings to the Night’s Watch. That’s why I named my direwolf…” she suddenly trailed off.

“Your direwolf didn’t run away, did she?” carefully asked Tywin.

“I…I had to…” Arya suddenly trailed off, realizing she could never admit the truth. She straightened her back and lied, “Direwolves are wild animals. They do as they please.”

“You’re too smart for your own good. Has anyone ever told you that?” he asked in an amused tone.

“Yes,” said Arya. A servant suddenly walked in, carrying a tray wafting with smells that made Arya’s mouth water. She hadn’t eaten since the day before and was starving. The servant placed the tray down in front of Arya and Tywin nodded for her to eat. She immediately tore into a chicken leg, abandoning her manners.

“I have to warn you, girl,” said Tywin. “The king may have not noticed the defiant answer you gave him when you were leaving, but half the court did. You can’t openly show your hatred for a ruler.”

“I don’t want to be here,” stubbornly said Arya. “I hate this city and I hate everyone in it. If I’m forced to stay here, I’m not going to pretend to like it.”

“You don’t have to like it,” said Tywin. “I served as the Mad King’s Hand for twenty years while he spiraled into insanity. I didn’t like King’s Landing then and I don’t like it now. But I don’t show how I feel.”

“My sister was always good at that,” muttered Arya.

“Your enemy is more dangerous when you don’t know what they are thinking,” said Tywin.

Arya slowly began to understand. Tywin was telling her that she could hate King’s Landing but she couldn’t show it. She needed to hide her emotions. She leaned back when she finished eating and tried to hide a yawn.

“You’ve had an eventful day. Go back to your room and get some rest,” he said. “And I’m sorry you lost your wolf.”

Arya simply nodded and left the room. She felt more alone than ever before. King’s Landing wasn’t good for Nymeria. The direwolf needed land to run on and prey to kill. Arya hoped she would travel north to reunite with her brothers and sisters. But King’s Landing wasn’t good for Arya either. She wanted nothing more than to join her wolf and return home.

But she couldn’t. Her mother and father made it clear that it was her duty to remain in King’s Landing and listen to the King. Arya finally arrived in her room where she changed out of her clothes into a loose nightgown. She climbed into her bed, feeling an empty spot at her feet where Nymeria used to lay.

She hadn’t slept for over twenty four hours but she was wide awake, staring at a crack on the ceiling.

 _This is Joffrey’s fault,_ she thought as she clenched her sheets in her fingers. _My family abandoned me in King’s Landing. Lord Tywin is right; I have to learn how to control my anger. I’ll get back at everyone who has wronged me._

That night, she dreamed that she was a direwolf, running through the forest outside of King’s Landing. She felt free for the first time in weeks but she missed her master. She tracked a stag running through the forest and pounced, tearing its throat out with her teeth. She snarled as she tore into the fresh kill. When Arya awoke the next morning, her mouth tasted of blood.

* * *

Arya raised her eyebrows as she walked into the Tower of the Hand’s small hall, wondering why all of the tables and benches were pushed to the sides. The hall was much bigger than she expect as it could fit hundreds of people. It was an extremely long room with a high vaulted ceiling.

One of Tywin’s servants had come to her room earlier in the day to tell her that she was expected in the Hand’s small hall at noon. The man told her to bring _Needle._ She was wearing breeches and a thin tunic.

A small man stood at the end of the hall. He had curly black hair and held two wooden training swords. Although he didn’t turn around, he said, “You are late, boy. Tomorrow you will be here on time.”

The man finally turned and Arya saw that he had piercing black eyes and a kind face. He had a strange accent that Arya struggled to place, though she knew it was from somewhere across the Narrow Sea. He suddenly threw the sword at Arya and the hilt slipped through her fingers, the sword clattering to the floor. 

“Tomorrow you will catch it,” he said.

“Who are you?” she asked curiously.

“Your dancing master. Syrio Forel!” he said. He pointed his own sword at the ground. “Now pick it up.”

Arya bent and picked up the sword. It was much heavier than she expected. Wooden practice swords were often filled with lead. She stood like Barristan Selmy had taught her with two hands on the sword.

Syrio tsked. “No, no, no! That is not the way, boy,” he said. “That is not a great sword needing two hands to swing.”

“It’s heavy,” said Arya with a pout.

“It is heavy as it needs to be to make you strong. Just so. One hand is all that is needed. Now you are standing all wrong. Turn your body side-face. So. You are skinny. That is good. The target is smaller. Now the grip... Let me see. The grip must be delicate,” emphasized Syrio.

“What if I drop it?” asked Arya.

Syrio suddenly swung the sword so close to her that it almost hit her nose. “The steel must be part of your arm. Can you drop part of your arm? No. Nine years Syrio Forel was first sword to the Sealord of Braavos. He knows these things,” he said.

“I’m a girl!” insisted Arya.

Syrio shook his head. “Boy, girl, you are a sword!” He moved towards her and adjusted her hand on the sword. “That is the grip,” he said with a nod. “You are not holding a battle-axe. You are holding a—“

“Needle!” interrupted Arya with a smile.

Syrio smiled back. “Just so,” he said. “Now we will begin the dance. Remember, child, this is not the dance of the Westeros we are learning…the knight's dance, hacking and hammering,” he said with an eye roll. This is the Bravo's dance…the _water dance_. It is swift—“

He swung his sword and Arya jumped back.

“—and sudden. All men are made of water, do you know this? If you pierce them, the water leaks out and they die. Now you will try to strike me.”

Arya gripped the sword and step forward swinging it at Syrio’s head. He easily dodged and she stumbled past him. She swung her sword again, Syrio smiling as he ducked out of the way. When she tried to attack him for the third time, he disarmed her, her sword falling to the side.

“Again!” Syrio shouted.

She rushed at him but hesitated at the last moment, pulling back. Syrio clicked his tongue. “The man who fears losing has already lost,” he said. “Fear cuts deeper than swords.”


	5. The First Kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ser Meryn Trant takes over Arya's lessons. Cersei plots. Arya realizes that she has some leverage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of your comments and kudos!

Arya nervously stood in the training yard. She was panicked. A crowd had gathered to watch her lesson today and she didn’t know why. She had been in King’s Landing for almost two years and it was the first time the king had come to watch one of her lessons.

Ser Meryn Trant had taken over her lessons months before. He wasn’t kind to her like Barristan Selmy was, instead pushing her well beyond her limits. The only explanation she received was that Selmy was too busy as Commander of the Kingsguard. Trant would often hit her with the flat side of his blunted sword if she made a simple mistake or if she didn't follow his instructions quickly enough. Arya wondered if part of him enjoyed it because every time she looked back, he was smiling. The only things she found enjoyment in were her lessons with Syrio, Tommen, and Tyrion.

Her hair was braided out of her face. It had grown much longer since she had come to King’s Landing and her mother wasn’t there to nag her about cutting it. She was a few inches taller and was much more muscular. It seemed all she did was train, read in the library, attend her lessons, or play in the Godswood with Tommen. Occasionally she joined Tyrion as he rode throughout the city but she always needed to get permission first. Sometimes Tywin would invite her to eat lunch in his solar and would quiz her about her lessons. The worst part of the week was when she would eat dinner with the royal family. One of the following always happened: either her or Joffrey getting thrown out of the dinner, Tommen crying, Robert going on a drunken rant, or Cersei directing a horrible insult at Arya.

Her letters to her family had gotten more and more sparatic. Every time she felt like she missed them, she found herself growing angry. _Why did they let me come here?_ she always thought. They were probably happy that she was gone. She always caused so much trouble in Winterfell.

The king leaned on the wooden railing separating spectators from the practice pen, Tywin standing beside him. The rest of the small council was watching. Jaime Lannister and the rest of the Kingsguard stood around Robert. Even the Hound was watching. Arya immediately could tell that this training session was going to be different.

Trant stood in the center of the pen. Once Arya entered the pen, he gestured to the guards standing on the edge of the ring. They pushed in a large man with light brown hair.

He threw the sword at the man’s feet. “What’s this?” asked the man as he picked up the blade. Arya could see that he was well muscled and that he had a warrior's grip; he knew how to use a sword. 

"You're a disgraced gold cloak. You know what to do with that." Meryn pointed at Arya. “You kill her, you get your freedom. Your crime of theft will be forgotten." 

Arya’s face fell as she took a step back. “I don’t want to do this. I can’t fight him without a weapon,” she said. Trant glared at her.

“I don’t care what you want,” growled Meryn. “You’ll do what I say.” Trant stepped out of the pen and took his place next to the king. 

Arya frowned but tensed,  waiting for the man to come at her. She easily dodged as he stabbed his sword at her shoulder, ducking low when he swung it over her head.

Arya jumped out of the way. “Hold your ground!” yelled Trant. When the man came at her again, Arya twisted her body and kicked him in the knee. She heard a crack as the man fell to the ground, screaming in pain.

Arya moved to exit the pen. Once she disarmed a man, he would let her stop. Sometimes he would make her go further, practicing a certain technique.

“What are you doing?” called out King Robert. “End him.”

Arya turned to Tywin, her grey and gold eyes pleading, hoping that he would put an end to this. He made no move to stop.

Out of the corner of her eye, Arya saw the man scramble for the sword once he heard what Robert said. She moved faster than he did, stomping on his hand so hard that she could feel it break under his boot. He screamed in pain. Before he could do anything else, she grabbed his neck in her hands and twisted it until she heard a loud snap. She dropped his lifeless body in the dirt, looking down at the man with her fists clenched.

Robert began to clap, entering the pen. “I wish I had a killing machine like that with me during the Rebellion,” he said with a smile. “Your talents would have been wasted in the North.” Arya wanted to do nothing more then pick up the sword and drive it though his throat.

He began to speak with Meryn. “Make sure she controls herself. I want you to start training with prisoners everyday. We’ll start sending her out once she’s ready,” he said. He reached out and patted Arya’s cheek. She was startled and almost grabbed his arm to break it. “Don’t look so sad, girl. Your father told me you wanted to become a warrior. Isn't this what you wanted?”

Robert left the pen with Meryn and Tywin, presumably speaking about Arya’s training. She was still looking at the body when Tyrion Lannister approached her, a sympathetic look on his face.

“May I escort you to your chambers?” he asked. Arya simply followed him without responding.

As they walked into the castle, Robert's words rang through her head.  _Isn't this what you wanted? Isn't this what you wanted? Isn't this what you wanted?_

“It’s only going to get worse from here,” said Tyrion, interrupting her thoughts. “Now that they’ve seen your Grace, they’ll want you to use it.”

“On who?” asked Arya. “Who deserves to die like that? The King already has Ilyn Payne.”

Tyrion shrugged. “You’re more intimidating than the King’s Justice. With you they’ll receive no trial, no warning,” he said.

“I never wanted this,” insisted Arya. "If I knew what I would have to do to learn how to use a sword and wear breeches, I never would have wished for it in the first place." 

Tyrion agreed. “Being a Graceling is a terrible thing,” he said. Arya glared at him. “Did I offend you? I apologize, Lady Arya. But you are a Graceling.”

“I’ve told you, it’s Arya,” she grumbled. “I know that I’m a Graceling!” she said angrily. “Every time I look in the mirror I wish I wasn’t!”

“Let me give you some advice, Graceling. Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor. Then it can never be used to hurt you,” said Tyrion.

They arrived at her door. Arya glared at him again. “What do you know about being a Graceling?” she asked with her arms crossed.

“I don’t know anything about being a Graceling,” he said honestly. “But I do know what it’s like to be a dwarf and I imagine the disappointment in your parents’ faces when your eyes set was similar to my father’s when I was born.” Arya simply slipped into her room, slamming the door in Tyrion’s face.

* * *

She was waiting in the Hand’s small hall when Syrio arrived, sitting on a bench with her cheeks propped up in her hands. She barely looked up when he entered. He tossed a sword to her which she easily caught, taking her position across from him. When he assumed the water dancer stance, she simply lowered her sword.

“I don’t want to fight today,” she quietly said. Their lessons was one of the few things she enjoyed about King’s Landing and she had become a respectable water dancer from her two years of training. Syrio even said that they could begin training with real steel soon. But she wasn’t in the mood to fight today.

“No?” asked Syrio with a raised eyebrow. He lowered his sword.

“They made me kill someone today,” she said, clenching her fist. “He was a prisoner from the Black Cells. They told him if he could kill me, they would set him free. They wouldn’t let me stop until I killed him. I don’t care about stupid wooden swords!” she yelled.

“You are troubled,” supplied Syrio.

“Yes,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I—“

“—Good!” he interrupted in a sharp tone. “Trouble is the perfect time for training. When you are dancing in the meadow with your dolls and kittens, this is not when fighting happens.”

Arya glared at him. “I don’t like dolls and ki—“

“You’re not here,” said Syrio, this time in a softer tone. “You’re with your trouble. If you’re with your trouble when fighting happens…”

He suddenly stabbed his sword forward. Arya countered and tried to jab him in the stomach but he simply knocked her onto her back.

“More trouble for you,” he finished with a hint of a smile. He helped Arya up. "How can you be quick as a snake, or as quiet as a shadow, when you are somewhere else?”

“I can’t,” answered Arya.

“Just so,” said Syrio with a nod. “You are fearing for your Grace, yes? Do you pray to the gods?” Arya was surprised; Syrio had never mentioned her Grace before.

“The old and the new,” she answered. In truth, she hadn’t prayed much since she arrived at King’s Landing. What kind of god would forsake her with a Grace like this?

“There is only one god,” said Syrio in a grave tone. “And his name is death. There is only one thing we say to death.”

He assumed the practice position again and Arya followed.

“Not today.”

* * *

Tommen sat underneath the great oak in King’s Landing’s godswood, wondering why Arya was so late. The sun was much lower in the sky than it was before and he sighed and got up, determined to find out what she was doing. She never missed an opportunity to sit in the Godswood; it was her favorite place in the entire city. He brushed the dirt and pine needles off of his breeches and briskly walked to her room. His mother would be looking for him soon and it wouldn’t do either of them any good if she caught them together. She didn’t bother to hide her hatred towards Arya.

He walked through the Red Keep, keeping his head down as he passed servants and guards. None seemed to pay attention to him as this side of the castle was usually empty. He stopped outside of where he hoped her door was (he had only visited her room once before) and knocked.

“Who is it?” Arya called out in a wary tone.

“It’s me,” said Tommen in his high pitched voice. “Can I come in?”

He heard the bar to the door lift and Arya opened it, walking back over to her bed.

“Why didn’t you come to the Godswood?” he asked, a bit hurt that she ditched him. 

Arya shrugged. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I don't know, I just didn’t feel like it,” she said. She climbed onto the mattress and then carefully positioned herself onto the bedpost. Tommen furrowed his eyebrows with confusion as she shakily lifted herself onto one toe.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Syrio says that a water dancer can balance themselves on any toe for hours,” she said, holding her arms out and staring ahead.

“That’s going to hurt if you fall,” said Tommen, sitting on the bed.

“A water dancer never falls,” scoffed Arya. “Syrio says that every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better.”

“Who’s Syrio?” Tommen asked with confusion.

Arya suddenly jumped onto the bed next to Tommen. They both laid down and hung their heads upside down over the edge.

“He’s no one,” hollowly said Ayra. She suddenly turned to Tommen, her mismatched eyes filled with guilt. “They made me kill someone today, Tommen.”

“What?” he asked with confusion. “Who made you do that?”

“Your father and Meryn Trant,” she said, turning her head back towards the ceiling.

“Oh,” said Tommen. He wasn’t sure how to answer.

“I think he was a thief they were holding in the Black Cells. I know that makes him a bad person but…” she suddenly trailed off, looking out the window. Tommy suddenly understood why she didn’t want to see him today.

“It’s almost dinner time. Your mother is going to be looking for you,” she said.

Tommen suddenly jumped up. “Gods, you’re right. I’ll see you in the Godswood tomorrow?” he asked hopefully.

Arya gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Sure,” she said. She guided Tommen out of the room and shut the door behind him. He heard her lower the bar on her door.

He thought about Arya’s fate as he walked back to his mother’s dining room. He felt bad for her, he truly did. He was her only friend in King’s Landing and she often jumped to his defense from Joffrey at the weekly dinner she attended with the royal family. He wanted to help Arya but there was nothing that he could do. He asked his mother once if he would allowed to visit Arya when she returned home to Winterfell but her mother simply pursed her lips and said that Arya would never return home.

He began to jog as he saw that the door to the dining room was already shut. They had already started dining. He quickly burst into the room, sighing with relief when he saw that his father and Joffrey weren’t present.

He gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry, mother,” he said. “I lost track of time.”

Cersei pursed her lips. His uncle Jaime sat next to her, Myrcella across from them. Tommen took his place besides his sister.

“Where were you?” she asked. Tommen knew the tone she was using well; it was one that warned her children not to lie to her. She was wearing a golden gown with long sleeves. Green thread was embroidered into the dress and she was wearing a heavy golden necklace with large emeralds.

Tommen swallowed as servants placed bowls of soup in front of them. “I was in the Godswood,” he said. It was part of the truth, at least.

“With that Graced Stark girl,” she said, disgust evident in her voice. She didn’t like Arya when they met in Winterfell but she stopped trying to hide her hatred after the Joffrey incident.

Jaime waved his hand. “Don’t be so worried, sister,” he said lightly. Jaime was wearing plainclothes instead of his usual gold armor and white cloak. “I have a Grace and you still love me.”

“Yes, but you don’t have a killing Grace,” said Cersei in a pointed tone.

Jaime shrugged. “Fair enough,” he said.

Tommen simply looked at his plate and was glad that Myrcella suddenly changed the subject. She began to ask their mother about her upcoming birthday celebration. While the two were speaking, Tommen turned to his uncle.

“Uncle Jaime,” he said. “Do you know anything about the water dance?”

Jaime raised an eyebrow. “Water dance?” he asked. “I think it’s a style of sword fighting they use in Braavos. Why do you ask?”

“I overheard someone talking about it today,” said Tommen. He forced himself to make eye contact and keep his voice even. Tommen often struggled to lie. 

“They use very slender blades and don’t wear any armor, sacrificing protection for speed,” he explained. “I don’t think your father would like you asking questions about a style of fighting like that.”

Cersei took a sudden interest in their conversation. “Why are you asking so many questions?” she asked. She suddenly realized why her son was asking about it. It had something to do with that Stark girl.

Tome shrugged again. “I just wanted to learn something,” he grumbled.

Cersei sat up a bit straighter, glaring at her son. “Don’t speak to me that way,” she snapped.

“Sorry, mother,” he said quietly. He stopped asking questions about water dancers as Cersei began to stew, wondering what the Stark girl was doing to her son. She would find out about this “water dance” before her son was totally corrupted.

* * *

“Finish them,” said Meryn Trant in a low tone. Arya was in another one of her training sessions. Luckily this time no one was watching besides a few Lannister guards, but unluckily Trant had brought out three prisoners to attack Arya.

She disarmed them so fast it was almost laughable. They were left on the ground in various states of pain. She was itching to practice her water dance on someone else other than Syrio but knew she couldn’t give any indication that she was receiving other lessons.

Arya clenched her fist, thinking about what Syrio taught her. _Not today,_ she thought.

She raised her chin and said, “No. They’re beaten. I don’t need to kill them.”

Meryn clenched his jaw, taking a step closer to her. “Are you stupid, or are you deaf? You’ll do exactly as I say, Graceling,” he said.

“I know how to kill,” insisted Arya. “You can teach me something else. I’m not going to do it again.”

Meryn cocked his arm back and punched her in the face. She stumbled to the ground, holding her bloody lip. "Do whatever you want to me,” she said. Her lip was already starting to swell. "I'm done listening to you."

Meryn delivered a sharp kick to her side and she gasped with pain. She knew he was testing her, hoping to get her to lash out. She wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction. She lay on the ground and silently took her beating. By the time he was done, Arya hadn’t moved or made a sound.

He left her with one last viscous kick and killed the three men himself. “Stupid bitch,” he hissed. “You disobey me again, and I won’t stop with a beating.”

He left her in the mud. She bit her lip and slowly stood, gripping the side of the pen for support. She stepped over the bodies and slowly began to make her way to her room.

 _Fear cuts deeper than swords,_ she thought. _Calm as still water._

It was a long walk and she received many strange looks from servants and handmaidens. She was thankful that she didn’t see any of the nobles.

When she finally got to her room, she changed out of her bloody clothes and sat down at the small basin of water in her room, gasping as she looked into the mirror.

Meryn’s blows had left obvious red marks that were already swelling. Arya knew they would bruise tomorrow. She tentatively poked at her ribs, wincing with the pain. She dabbed a small towel in the water and began to clean the blood off. When she was done, she laid in bed and curled up into a ball. She clenched her fists, wondering if her father knew what her fate would be in King’s Landing all along.

* * *

She walked into her lesson with Syrio, more determined than ever before. “I want to learn how to train with live steel,” she said, with her chin held high.

Syrio ignored her bold statement. He cupped her face with his hands, lifting it upwards. “What happened to your lovely face?” he softly asked.

Arya smacked his hands away and scowled. “My sister is lovely,” she insisted. “Nothing happened. I tripped going down the stairs.” She wasn’t able to make eye contact with Syrio as she explained, instead looking at her shoes.

“It was the knight, wasn’t it? The Kingsguard,” he spat out. “Made to protect the innocent, yet they beat children.”

Arya raised her eyebrows in surprise. “How did you know?” she asked quietly. She didn’t bother denying it anymore.

“Your words said one thing. But your eyes were shouting the truth,” he said. He placed an arm on her shoulder, guiding her to a bench. “Let me tell you something, child.”

“Syrio Forel was the first sword to the Sealord of Braavos,” he said.

“Because you were the best swordsman in the city,” said Arya.

He nodded, answering with his strange lilt. “Just so, but why? Other men were stronger, faster, younger, why was Syrio Forel the best? The seeing, the true seeing, that is the heart of it.”

Arya opened her mouth to interrupt but Syrio continued.

“The ships of Braavos sail as far as the winds blow, to lands strange and wonderful, and when they return their captains fetch queer animals to the Sealord’s collection. Such animals as you have never seen, striped horses, great spotted things with necks as long as stilts, hairy mouse-pigs as big as cows, stinging manticores, tigers that carry their cubs in a pouch, terrible walking lizards with scythes for claws. Syrio Forel has seen these things,” he said.

“The Sealord sent for me. Many Bravos had come to him, and as many had been sent away, none could say why. Even the Graced, like you, were turned away. When I came into his presence, he was seated, and in his lap was a fat yellow cat. He told me that one of his captains had brought the beast to him, from an island beyond the sunrise,” he explained. Arya was listening intently.

“‘Have you ever seen a beast like her?' he asked."

“And to him I said, ‘Each night in the alleys of Braavos I see a thousand like him,’ and the Sealord laughed, and that day I was named the first sword.”

Arya screwed up her face. “I don’t understand.”

Syrio clicked his teeth together. “The cat was an ordinary cat, no more. The others expected a fabulous beast, so that is what they saw. How large it was, they said. It was no larger than any other cat, only fat from indolence, for the Sealord fed it from his own table. What curious small ears, they said. Its ears had been chewed away in kitten fights. And it was plainly a tomcat, yet the Sealord said ‘her,’ and that is what the others saw. Are you hearing?”

Arya thought about it. “You saw what was there.”

“Just so. Opening your eyes is all that is needing. The heart lies and the head plays tricks with us, but the eyes see true. Look with your eyes. Then comes the thinking, afterward, and in that way knowing the truth.”

“I think I understand now,” said Arya.

“Good,” smiled Syrio. He patted her hand. “Run along today, Arya. You are in no state for more lessons.”

Arya nodded and slowly got up, wincing at her bruises. “I’m not going to kill for them,” she said defiantly. “They can do whatever they want to me, but I will never give in.”

“What do we say to the god of death?” asked Syrio in an amused tone.

“Not today.”

* * *

Robert strode into his chambers, surprised to see Cersei sitting at a table near the windows. She had a glass of wine in her hand and was staring out into the courtyard. Cersei and Robert did not love each other, some going as far as to say that they hated one another.

“What are you doing here?” he asked with a glare.

Cersei gestured towards the table. “I can’t spend some time with my husband?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

Robert snorted out a laugh, throwing himself down into a chair. He grabbed the pitcher of wine sitting in the middle of the table and poured himself a glass. “The only time you’ll be able to stand staying in the same room as me is at my funeral,” he said, half joking, half serious.

Cersei smiled, neither denying or agreeing with what he said. They stared at each other for a moment. “Tommen has been acting strangely,” she said.

Robert rolled his eyes. “The boy isn’t normal. Doesn’t want to learn how to use a sword or bow. He’s always has his nose in a book,” he spat out. Cersei clenched her wineglass a bit tighter. “Maybe I’m too tough on the boy. I just don’t want him to grow up to be weak.”

Cersei cleared her throat and changed the subject. “He’s been different ever since you brought that little beast here from Winterfell,” she said.

Robert rolled his eyes, leaning back. “So that’s what this is about,” he muttered.

“I'm sorry your marriage to Ned Stark didn't work out. You seemed so good together,” she sneered. “But I don’t like how she’s influencing Tommen. Perhaps you should send her to your brother. He’s certainly stern enough for her.”

“And you don’t think I am?” grumbled Robert.

“It’s dangerous to provoke a Graceling like that,” she said. “We can control most of them with golden dragons but she’s not like them.

Robert stared at her, letting out a long breath through his nose. “It's a neat little trick you do, you move your lips and your father's voice comes out,” he said.

“Is my father wrong?” asked Cersei with a raised eyebrow.

“Your father is befriending the Graceling,” said Robert, shaking his head. “I don’t know if he’s the smartest man I’ve met, or the most foolish.”

“So you want to use her as a killing tool,” said Cersei, running a finger along the stem of her wineglass. “She’s the daughter of the most important family in the North. Does Ned Stark know his little girl will be doing the king’s killing?”

Robert grunted, tossing back his wine. “Ned has his head buried in the snow,” he said. “I couldn’t leave Graceling so powerful in the North. Their dissent is growing, I can feel it. Ned Stark refusing the position of Hand of the King was the first sign.”

Cersei sighed, knowing this route wouldn’t work. If she couldn’t get rid of the girl, she certainly could make her life miserable.

“Well, you certainly are training her well,” said Cersei. “Sword fighting, archery, water dance—“

“—water dance?” interrupted Robert, his face twisting with anger. “She’s only being trained by Trant.”

“You didn’t know?” asked Cersei, hiding her smirk. “My father arranged the lessons with some Braavosi swordsman. She’s been learning from him for some time. And now Tommen wants the same.”

Robert slammed his fist on the table, knocking over a wineglass. “This will not stand!” he yelled. He stood up from the table and strode from the room, presumably to find Tywin Lannister. Cersei merely smirked and poured herself more wine.

Robert muttered to himself, his face growing redder and redder as he angrily walked to the Tower of the Hand. Meryn Trant and the four other red cloaks on duty followed closely behind as soon as Robert burst out of his room. Since Robert was in the Red Keep, Trant was the only member of the Kingsguard on duty.

He was out of breath by the time he arrived at the Tower, internally groaning when he saw the stairs. When he finally arrived at Tywin’s private audience chambers, he leaned against the door for a moment.

He burst in without knocking. Tywin was reading papers on his desk and barely looked up when Robert entered. “You don’t stand for your king?” spat out Robert.

Tywin slowly stood, setting down his pen and papers. He met Robert’s angry gaze and asked, “My apologies, Your Grace,” he said. “Is there something you would like to discuss?”

Not for the first time, Robert wished that Ned had agreed to be his hand. He hated that Tywin was so much smarter than him, that he seemed to be constantly plotting behind his back.

“I want to know why you’ve been giving the Graceling girl water dancing lessons of all things,” growled Robert. He sat down, glaring at his hand. “Why didn't you ask permission?”

If Tywin was surprised, he didn’t show it. “She came here with a Braavosi sword,” he said. “She enjoys the lessons and it isn’t harming anything.”

Robert swallowed down his anger. “It’s a waste of time,” he growled. “I don’t want that foreign bastard to plant ideas in her head. Where is she now?”

Tywin paused for a moment before finally answering, “In the tower’s small hall for her dancing lesson.”

Robert turned to Trant and the other guards, spitting out, “Bring her here.” The guards left the room, leaving Tywin and Robert alone.

“As your hand, it’s my duty to warn you that you are treading in dangerous waters,” he said. “You’re antagonizing a killing Graceling just because of your quarrels with Ned Stark.”

“You speak this way to a king?” asked Robert.

“You asked me for honesty,” shrugged Tywin. “It would be safer to let the girl have something that she enjoys in life.”

Robert narrowed his eyes at Tywin. “The water dancing lessons are ending, whether she likes it or not.”

A few floors down, Meryn Trant and four red cloaks strode into Tywin Lannister’s small hall. Arya Stark was nowhere in sight, only a small man with two wooden practice swords standing in the room.

“Where is Arya Stark?” asked Meryn Trant in a commanding tone.

“She’s not here,” said Syrio in an even tone. He eyed the men. “Who are you?”

“I don’t answer to foreigners,” spat out Trant. “Where did she go?”

Syrio ignored his question, slowly walking forward. “You are Ser Meryn Trant, a member of King Robert’s guard,” he said in a casual tone. “You are the knight who beats her.”

“Mind your place, dancing master,” gritted out Trant. “Now tell me where the girl is before I gut you.”

Unbeknown to anyone in the room, Arya had returned to the small hall to tell Syrio that she did want to practice the water dance, regardless of her injuries. It was one of the few pleasures she had in King’s Landing. Once she heard arguing coming from the hall, she paused outside of the doorway, peeking in through the keyhole.

“Are you a man, or are you a snake that you would threaten a child?” asked Syrio. “I saw the bruises you left. You do not deserve your white cloak.”

Trant suddenly drew his sword, baring his teeth. The men behind him did the same. “Time in the Black Cells will teach you some respect, little man. The King is putting in end to your lessons. Get him.”

“I am Syrio Forel,” he said as the closest red cloak stepped forward, sword in hand. "And you will be treating me with more respect.”

Before the red cloak could strike, Syrio swung the wooden practice sword at the man’s hand. There was an audible crack as he dropped his sword, screaming, “My hand!”

Before the red cloak could do anything else, Syrio swung his sword into the side of his head, knocking him unconscious.

“You are quick for a dancing master,” observed Meryn.

Syrio narrowed his eyes. “And you are slow for a knight.”

“Kill him,” simply ordered Trant. “He’s no use to us alive.”

 _No,_ thought Arya. She almost burst from her hiding place to help him, but remembered the beating Meryn had given her the day before. He would do worse if he caught her here. 

Watching him now, Arya realized that Syrio had just been toying with her when they dueled. The remaining red cloaks approached him from three sides. Syrio did not wait for the men to approach him, but spun to his left. She had never seen a man move so fast. He blocked one man with his wooden sword and whirled away from the second. He knocked the two down with a kick. The third swung at his head. Syrio simply ducked under and thrust his sword upwards, yanking it out quickly. The man screamed and fell back as blood welled up where his eye used to be.

The downed men were beginning to get up. One quickly grabbed his sword with two hands and with a battle cry, he swung it downwards at Syrio. Syrio simply stepped out of the way, the man’s sword burying itself in the red cloak with the broken hand’s shoulder. Syrio smacked the man in the knee, shattering his kneecap, and then stomped on his throat with is boot.

Before the last man could even pick up his blade, Syrio swung the sword into his neck. The man let out a choking sound before falling to the ground.

Four men lay dead or dying by the time Syrio was finished. Arya was frozen, staring through the keyhole.

Meryn Trant observed the scene around him and cursed, “Fucking idiots.” He drew his own sword and stepped forward.

Arya looked Trant’s armor. The red cloaks Syrio had just defeated weren’t as well guarded as Trant. Their hands, necks, and faces were unguarded. Trant was covered in pale armor from head to toe; he lowered the visor to his helm. Syrio only had a leather vest and wooden sword to protect him.

The knight slashed at him, Syrio dancing away from the first blow. He landed harsh wooden smacks on Meryn’s arms, legs, helm, and hands but the wood merely bounced off of the armor. As Ser Meryn advanced, Syrio was forced to back away. He danced away from the first blow, deflected the second, and blocked the third.

The fourth sliced his wooden sword in two, shattering the wood and slicing through the lead core.

If Syrio was afraid, he didn’t show it. He simply squared his shoulders and held his chin high, attempting to block Meryn’s fifth slash.

In the end, the wooden sword and Syrio’s skill were no match for Trant’s armor or steel. He drove his blade through Syrio’s stomach, pulling it out as he collapsed. Arya wanted to scream but instead bit her lip so hard that it began to bleed.

He stood over Syrio, muttering, “I’ll find her myself.” Ser Meryn spit on Syrio and turned on his heels, heading towards the door.

Arya was terrified once she realized the man was coming towards her. She desperately looked around until she saw long curtains hanging on a window. She dashed behind them and stood still, hearing the door open and Trant’s footsteps recede. When she was sure it was safe, she ran back into the room, ignoring the sight of the dead men.

She slowed down when she saw that Syrio’s eyes were open and glazed over. His mouth hung slightly open with blood dripping out of the side. Blood pooled around him.

Arya felt her eyes fill with tears as she dropped to her knees, closing his eyes with her hand. Syrio was dead. Syrio, one of the only people in King’s Landing who cared about her. Syrio, the only person in King’s Landing that didn’t fear her.

“Fear cuts deeper than swords,” she whispered. “Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords.”

She kept whispering the saying to herself until she realized she wasn’t scared, she was angry. In fact, she was trembling with anger. She slowly rose to her feet, her hands clenched into fists.

 _Ser Meryn wanted me to kill,_ she thought. She took one last look at Syrio and felt a pang of sadness that she quickly masked with anger. _Fine. I’ll kill. But I’ll start with him._

* * *

Arya kept her head down as she walked into the King’s dining hall. She had easily avoided the red cloaks looking for her and had even managed to steal a dress her size from the seamstress. She dressed herself and braided her own hair but was still wearing her muddy boots.

While she was hiding, she managed to formulate a plan. She knew the guards would be watching her chambers and the Godswood and that Meryn Trant would be guarding the King for the entire day. She was supposed to dine with the royal family tonight. Meryn Trant would be there. She planned to excuse herself to go to the privy and kill Meryn Trant while he was standing guard in the hallway.

She took her seat next to Tyrion. The king wasn’t there yet. She stared at the empty plate in front of her, her heart hammering in her chest. _Fear cuts deeper than swords,_ she reminded herself. _The man who fears losing has already lost._

She finally snapped out of her stupor when she realized that Tyrion had been asking her a question. “Huh?” she said, stupidly staring at him.

“Are you alright?” he asked, gesturing at her face. Arya realized that he was talking about her bruises.

“I’m fine. I fell,” she lied in a tight tone.

Joffrey sniggered. “You’re clumsy for someone with a killing Grace,” he said.

Arya narrowed her mismatched eyes and almost laughed when the smirk fell from his face. She found that her glare could do that sometimes. She glanced over his shoulder to see the Hound standing in the room. That could present a problem, as he was one of the only people who could take her in a fight.

“Where were you today?” asked Tywin. He was sitting at the other end of the table, carefully observing Arya. “You didn’t attend your dancing lesson.”

Arya clenched her jaw. “I was in the Sept,” she lied again.

“I thought you followed the Old Gods,” said Tommen in a confused tone.

“And the New,” said Arya. She kept glancing towards the door, wondering when the King was going to arrive. “My mother was from Riverrun.” In truth, Arya hadn’t prayed to any gods since she arrived in King’s Landing.

Tyrion shot her another concerned glance and was about to say something else when Robert strode into the room followed by Meryn Trant.

Her patience disappeared once Meryn Trant entered the room. Arya simply grabbed the first utensil she could find and with a scream, she launched herself at Trant. She caught him off guard and knocked him to the ground, stabbing him in the eye with what she later realized was a spoon. He let out a terrible scream of pain as she stabbed his other eye.

“Are you stupid, or are you deaf?!” she screamed, repeating the insults she heard from him. She stabbed the knife into to his throat, ignoring the blood that spurted across her face. She barely heard the screams of the people behind her telling her to stop. Trant stopped screaming and was still but Arya continued to stab him again and again. “You killed him! You killed him! I’M KILLING LIKE YOU WANTED!”

She was so caught up in her stabbing that she didn’t hear the Hound approach her quietly from behind. The hilt of his sword caught her in the the back of her head and she slumped forward, unconscious.

* * *

She awoke in a place so dark she wondered if she was dead. Then she felt her head pounding and remembered the events that transpired before. As far as she could tell, the floor was cold but it didn’t seem to bother her too much. The cold never bothered her.

She still alive. She cursed herself for killing Meryn Trant like that. Her hours of careful planning went to shit so quickly. In the end, her killing Grace overpowered her caution.

 _Stupid_ , she cursed herself. _Now Cersei will want you dead. She’ll say that you were going to try and kill the royal family after you finished with Trant._

And she thought of the people watching. Tyrion was probably disturbed, Tywin disappointed, and Tommen…Tommen was probably terrified. He would never want to talk to her again.

Arya was in the Black Cells, that much was clear. It was the only place secure enough to hold her. The cells were pitch black and freezing cold. She wondered how long she had been there. The blood on her hands and dress. Straw was strewn across the floor. Arya slowly stood up and felt along the wall, looking for a bed. She walked all the way around the room twice when she realized that there was no bed.

“Stupid!” she yelled, kicking a wall.

She slowly slid down the wall and buried her head in her hands, wondering what was going to happen to her. They couldn’t send her to the Wall and the Silent Sisters would never take a Graceling.

 _I won’t let them kill me,_ she thought.

“Ah, so the new prisoner is a girl,” called a voice from the wall.

Arya jumped up, whipping her head around. She couldn’t see anything and wondered if there was someone else in the room. Was the voice coming from her head?

“Where are you?” she asked in a shaky tone. “Are you in my cell?”

“A girl is amusing,” he chuckled. He had a strange accent, a lilt from across the Narrow Sea. “A man is in the cell beside you. Vents must run across the sides of the cells to avoid suffocation.”

“Who are you?” curiously asked Arya. There wasn’t much else to do to pass the time “Why are you here?”

“A girl has courage where she lacks sense,” said the man. “A girl should not talk to a man so dangerous.”

“I’m in the Black Cells too,” pointed out Arya.

The was silence before the man finally said, “This man has the honor to be Jaqen H'ghar. Once of the Free City of Lorath.”

“A Free City,” sadly said Arya. “My dancing master was from a free city. Braavos.”

“A man has been to Braavos,” said Jaqen. “What is a lovely girl doing in a place like this?”

“I should ask you the same thing,” said Arya.

Jaqen chuckled and she heard rustling. “We are both entitled to our secrets. A girl should try and rest. The council will request her presence soon.”

“How do you know that?” suspicious asked Arya. When she was met with silence, she asked, “Jaqen?” She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes, attempting to get more sleep.

A few hours later, she heard thumping against the hall. “Lovely girl,” a voice called out. “They are coming. A man has a request.”

“What is it?” asked Arya, slowly standing. Her muscles ached from the position she slept in. She dreamed that she was a wolf again, this time hunting with an entire pack of much smaller ones.

“Four men will come down to put you in chains. A girl must look for a small metal key on the gaoler’s belt. Lord Tywin will come to speak with you. When he leaves, toss the key though the vent,” he explained. Arya didn’t answer for a moment. She would have to cause a diversion to do so and would probably receive a beating.

“A girl could make a friend,” said Jaqen.

She heard footsteps coming from down the hall and knew she had to make a decision. _I’m already in a lot of trouble,_ she thought. _How much worse can it get?_

The door swung open and she winced when her eyes met the bright light. The Mountain, the Black Cells’ gaoler, and two gold cloaks were waiting. The gold cloaks had their steel drawn and the gaoler held iron shackles and chains. She glanced at his belt to see a small metal key, just like Jaqen said.

Arya made her move, pretending to try and run past him. She brushed against him and grabbed the key, slipping it into her hand. The Mountain grabbed her arm twisted it behind her back so hard that she cried out in pain.

“Try that again and I’ll break your hands,” he spat out. He threw her back into the cell, her knees scraping on the rough stone. Arya winced as the gaoler secured the shackles onto her ankles and wrists.

The Mountain pushed her to her knees and left the room. She glared at the man, remembering that he was one of the few people who could take her in a fight. He had a Grace too. He was inhumanly strong and large.

The gold cloaks and the Mountain stayed posted outside the door. Tywin Lannister walked in, a torch in hand. He placed the torch in a notch on the wall of the cell and the door swung shut behind them. Arya looked down at her dress to see it was stained with red blood.

There was a long stretch of silence, Arya refusing to speak. “Why did you kill Ser Meryn?” asked Tywin.

Arya raised her head. “He beats me. I know he likes hurting little girls,” she said. It was common knowledge that Meryn Trant frequented brothels where they kept the youngest girls. “Yesterday was worse than usual. I didn’t fall. These bruises are from him.”

“And this has nothing to do with your dancing master?” asked Tywin.

“What about Syrio, my lord?” she asked. She met his eyes and immediately knew he could tell that she was lying.

“Trant went looking for you and found your dancing master. They had a disagreement and Forel killed four red cloaks before he was killed by Ser Meryn,” explained Tywin.

Arya looked down at the floor. “Another reason to want him dead,” she said.

“You’re putting me in a difficult position,” said Tywin. “Treachery like that is normally met with Ser Ilyn’s sword.”

 _He couldn’t take my head if he tried,_ thought Arya.

“Do you understand what a legacy means?” he asked. Arya shook her head. “It's what you pass down to your children, and your children's children. It's what remains of you when you're gone. King Maegor thought this castle would be his legacy. He built hundreds of passageways to escape the castle and put every stone mason, woodworker, and craftsman to death to protect his secret. The only legacy anyone remembers is that he managed to turn the Seven Kingdoms against him, only to have his wrists slit by the Iron Throne.”

Arya patiently wanted for Lord Tywin to get to his point. He did this often, giving long winded explanations to finally come to a point at the end. She never stopped paying attention, though. If Tywin suspected that she wasn’t listening, he would ask her questions. She never allowed herself to be embarrassed like that.

“It seems your legacy will be determined by your killing Grace,” he explained. “I’ve managed to convince Robert that you shouldn’t receive any punishment.”

Arya furrowed her eyebrows with confusion. “I’m not in trouble?” she slowly asked.

“Do you want to be?” asked Tywin with a raised eyebrow. Arya shook her head. “As far as I am concerned, you’ve done the realm a favor. Meryn Trant never deserved a position on the Kingsguard in the first place. Another one of Robert’s misruling,” he mumbled.

His cool green eyes met Arya’s. “You should have told me that Trant treated you like that. I would have found you a new teacher,” he said.

“I don’t want _those_ lessons,” insisted Arya. “I liked the water dance.”

“Your dancing lessons are over,” firmly said Tywin. “The king won’t allow it.”

“The king won’t allow anything,” sneered Arya. “He hates me for no reason!”

“He has a reason. Maybe not a good one, but he has a reason,” said Tywin. “The King hates Gracelings. Ever since Rhaegar Targaryen took Lyanna Stark from him. Rhaegar had a Grace, you know.”

Arya snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, a stupid one. He could sing,” she said. Still, she wished she had a Grace like that instead of one that made everyone fear and hate her.

“Whenever the king sees a Graceling, he sees Rhaegar Targaryen,” explained Tywin. “That coupled with your father’s rejection has placed you in a bad position.”

“The small council’s biggest fear is that you will turn on us,” said Tywin. On a particularly hard day, thinking about killing the people that kept her in King’s Landing was the only thing that gave her a bit of joy. “Most people with Gracelings like yours are kept in check with money or family members held hostage. My son Jaime was given the honor of serving on the Kingsguard, something he wanted to do since he was a boy. Neither work for you. I’ve come here to ask what you want.”

“As long as I am treated well, I have no reason to turn on anyone,” said Arya. “I only killed Meryn Trant because he hurt me!”

She suddenly realized that she was in the position of power here. They feared her, that much was clear. “I want to be allowed outside of the Red Keep whenever I want,” firmly said Arya.

Tywin nodded in approval.

“I want a horse. A fast one,” she suddenly said, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “A Dornish sand steed. I want coin to buy things.”

“What else?” asked Tywin in an amused tone.

“I don’t want to eat with the royal family anymore,” she said, her face scrunching up with disgust. “I’ll go to big feasts when my presence is required, but the weekly dinners must stop.”

“I want to pick who I train with,” said Arya. “I liked Barristan Selmy. He was always kind to me. And I won’t kill any more prisoners. I know how to kill. I don’t need more practice.”

Tywin gave Arya a slight nod. “I will speak with the King. You’ll be released soon,” he promised. He opened the door and hesitated, glancing back at her.

“What is it, my Lord?” she asked, studying his face.

“I suppose now is as good as a time as any to tell you,” he said with a sigh. “Your brother had an accident. He fell climbing the walls of Winterfell. Broke his back when he hit the ground. He is alive, but he’ll never walk again.”

“Oh,” she said in a small voice.

“Perhaps you should write to your family,” suggested Tywin. Arya looked down at her feet, unsure of how to answer.

“Unlock her chains and leave the torch,” he commanded. He offered no further words of comfort and left the cell.

The gaoler did just that, leaving Arya alone in the small cell. Bran wanted to be a knight of the Kingsguard. He wanted to travel beyond the Wall. He would never walk again. Perhaps she should write to her family and offer her condolences. Then she remembered that she was locked in the Black Cells after her father allowed the King to take her here. As much as she willed it, she couldn’t cry over his accident.

She suddenly realized the key was sitting in her hand and focused on her new task instead of her crippled brother. With the torch in the cell, she found the tiny vent that led to Jaqen’s room. She scrambled up the stones on the wall, grabbing a beam that ran across the ceiling for support.

Arya held her hand through the dark vent. “Jaqen,” she whispered. “I have the key.”

She waited for a moment, wondering where Jaqen was. Suddenly a cold hand grasped her own. She almost screamed in fear. “Thank you, lovely girl. A girl has made a friend.”

Arya warily climbed back down, sitting against the wall once again. The Black Cells were reserved for the most vile and dangerous criminals and it seemed that she had just befriended one of them.

* * *

She was released from the Black Cells hours later and was escorted to her room. She was happy to see that a bath was waiting for her (although lukewarm) and immediately shed her disgusting clothing, cleaning all of the blood and dirt off of her. She wouldn’t wish a stay in the Black Cells upon anyone. Jaqen was still in his cell by the time she left and she wondered how he was going to get out. He had the key but the cells were pitch black and the lock was on the outside.

After she ate her dinner alone in her room, she blew out her candle, plunging the room into darkness. She climbed into her bed, kicking back the furs. The city was too hot to sleep with blankets.

She thought of Syrio and the last conversation that they had. _What do you say to the god of death?_ she thought. _Not today._

As she lay in the dark, she was eager to fall asleep and have her wolf dreams. She knew that she was a warg like Bran and although she couldn’t use her gift consciously, she could warg while she slept. She knew that she was warging into Nymeria almost every night. She wanted to hunt and kill something tonight, preferably a stag. She had finally started to fall asleep when she heard rustling in her room.

She scrambled back against her head board, calling out, “Who’s there?” The moon was extremely bright and she always slept with her curtains open. A shadow moved across the end of her bed.

“A man is not here to cause harm,” a familiar voice called across the room. Jaqen moved out of the shadows.

Arya threw her sheets back, glaring at Jaqen. She lit her candle again and sat on the edge of the bed. “You scared me half to death,” she said.

“Apologies. A girl should lock her door,” he said. “A girl says nothing. A girl keeps her mouth closed. No one hears, and friends may talk in secret, yes? A girl becomes a highborn Graceling,” he said as he looked into her eyes.

“I was always a Graceling,” grumbled Arya.

“And I was always aware,” said Jaqen.

Arya realized that it was the first time she had seen his face. He had long red hair with a white streak in front and an angular face. He was wearing gold cloak’s armor.

“You’re one of them now!” she exclaimed. “You were just in the Black Cells this morning! I should have left you there.”

“You will kill for the king too. Why is this right for you and wrong for me?” he asked.

“I don’t have a choice,” muttered Arya.

“You do,” acknowledge Jaqen. “I do. And here we are.” There was silence for a moment.

“A man pays his debts. He owes one,” said Jaqen, leaning against the wall.

Arya rubbed her eyes with sleepiness. “One what?” she asked with a yawn.

“The Many Faced God takes what is his, lovely girl. And only death can pay for life. You saved me and stole one death from the Many Faced God. We have to give it back,” he said. “Speak a name and a man will do the rest. A girl has many enemies in this city.”

Arya thought about all of the people she wanted dead. King Robert, Cersei, and Joffrey were the first three that came to mind. Ser Ilyn, the Mountain, and the Hound passed through her head next. _But I could kill them myself if I wanted to_ , thought Arya. _I want something that no one will give me and that I can’t take for myself._

She suddenly realized what Jaqen could give her. “I don’t want you to kill anyone,” she said in a careful tone. “I can do that myself. They’ve taken my dancing lessons away from me. You’ve been to Braavos. You must know something of the water dance.”

“Teaching was not promised,” said Jaqen.

“It’s the only thing I enjoyed!” said Arya.

“Only death,” firmly said Jaqen. She realized that he wasn’t going to budge.

“Fine,” muttered Arya. “I have a name for you. Jaqen H’ghar.”

Jaqen’s eyes narrowed in the dim light. “Un-name me. Now,” he said.

“A man can kill himself,” taunted Arya. “Or he can teach me how to water dance.”

Jaqen stared at her for a moment and she wondered if he was going to try and kill her. “Clever,” he finally said. “A girl lacks honor.” He suddenly stepped forward. “A man will teach the water dance.”

“Thank you,” said Arya, climbing back into bed.

“Get some rest, lovely girl. Our lessons will be nothing like the ones of Syrio Forel,” he promised. He blew out the candle and left the room. Arya threw the bar down behind him and climbed back into bed, hoping that she could finally have her wolf dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be away on vacation for a little over a week so I made sure I got this chapter up quickly. Next update will be July 7th.


	6. The Moon and The Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya learns what will happen if she disobeys the king's orders. Another Stark arrives at King's Landing.

Arya let the dagger dance though her fingers, staring at the old, sickly man in front of her. She got no pleasure from these interactions. The Hound was just outside of the door, barring anyone else from entering. She was at Parchments, the seat of House Penrose.

Lord Penrose sat at the table across from her, nervously dabbing at his head with a rag. King Robert sent Arya to Parchments because Lord Penrose hadn’t paid a tax on wheat like he was supposed to.

“It was a mistake,” he said. Arya noticed that the man’s hands were shaking. “My steward…he’s been drinking and—“

“Lord Penrose, we both know that you didn’t pay King Robert’s tax because you didn’t want to. You’ve already voiced your opinion to half the Stormlands. I believe you said something along the lines of, ‘We’re not paying for the repairs on the King’s Road, we’re paying for King Robert’s supply of Arbor Gold.’ Am I correct?” she asked in a bored tone.

“Yes, but—“

Arya slammed the dagger down into the table, embedding it in the wood. She didn’t think it was possible, but Lord Penrose paled more.

“You ignored Lord Baelish’s ravens asking why you hadn’t paid the tax. You even had your men threaten the gold cloaks that came knocking,” said Arya. “I am the last resort, Lord Penrose.”

“I’ll pay the tax,” he blurted out. “And I’ll add twenty percent for your troubles!”

“When the collectors come in a month, you’ll quadruple your payment,” she said. Lord Penrose nodded, seemingly relieved.

Arya stood, pulling the dagger free from the wood. She dreaded the part what came next. When she was sent on this missions, King Robert always expected her to hurt the ones who disobeyed him in some way. Broken arms or cut off fingers were always common.

Lord Penrose was trembling with fear. He was a tiny old man. He insisted that he meet her instead of his eldest son. She gripped the dagger tightly in her hand. She felt slightly nauseous, finally bringing herself to take one finger from the screaming man. Lord Penrose passed out as soon as she cut him, Arya glad that she didn't have to endure his screams for that long. It did nothing to quell her nausea. 

Arya left the room, the Hound following behind her. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, as it had been snowing right as they left. It had been winter for the past two years.

As they walked through the castle, servants scampered out of the way. She and the Hound were two of the most feared people in Westeros.

They arrived in the courtyard, a stable hand bringing over the Hound’s black warhorse named Stranger and Arya’s smokey grey sand steed. Stranger almost bit the boy’s hand. She had gotten her beautiful horse from Tywin after she killed her first man for Robert.

Arya and the Hound took their horses and rode out of Parchment’s gates. If they moved quickly enough, they could reach King’s Landing by nightfall. Although Arya hated the city, she didn't mind the act of traveling. Riding a horse cleared her head. 

She was fifteen now and had been killing for King Robert for five years. After the Meryn Trant incident at the royal family’s dinner, King Robert decided that it was time to have her kill and threaten around Westeros. They never sent her alone because they claimed it wasn’t proper but Arya suspected that the small council thought she would run with the first chance she got.

The Hound traveled with her the most. He knew exactly what to say to push her buttons and always claimed that she actually _enjoyed_ killing. What’s worse was that the Hound could take her in a fight. He usually let her lead the missions, often standing by and watching as Arya tortured or killed Robert’s enemies.

Two years before, when winter first started, she was sent to a lesser house in the Reach to kill some lord who had publicly said that things had been better before Robert’s Rebellion. The king declared the lord a traitor and sent Arya to kill him. When she snapped his neck instead of torturing him like she was told, Robert was furious with her. She could remember her punishment like it was yesterday. 

_The Hound had warned her. He told her what would happen if she didn't torture the man like Robert wanted. But Arya refused to follow his direct order, instead snapping his neck. He was dead like the king asked and Arya saw no difference. But when she was summoned before the royal court the day she returned, she realized that she should have headed the Hound's warnings._

_"Do you really find it that challenging to follow a set of simple instructions?" Robert had asked her. Tywin stood by his side and the rest of the royal family and small council members stood below the throne._

_Her face grew red with embarrassment, and her hands trembled with anger. "I killed the lord like you asked."_

_"What I asked was for you to publicly torture the man. Not give him a merciful death."_

_"Then have someone else do it!" shouted Arya._

_Robert glared, waving his hand. "The small council has decided you won't take punishments any longer." Arya smiled at that, finally glad that they feared her. "But that doesn't mean that others can't take them for you." The smile was wiped from her face as two red cloaks dragged a red-haired boy forward. A_ _rya realized that it was her friend Mycah, the son of the castle's butcher. He did not fear her like most people did and always managed to make her laugh._

_"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice small. "Mycah didn't do anything!"_

_"But you did," said Robert. He nodded to Ilyn Payne, the castle's executioner. Arya saw that he held a whip in his hand. "Twenty lashes for the disobeyed order, and five more for her outburst."_

_Mycah tried to escape from the red cloaks' grasps, but they were too strong. When Ilyn Payne landed the first blow with the whip, she heard Mycah cry out in pain._

_"Don't touch him!" she snarled, stepping forward._

_"Ten more lashes," said Robert, glaring at her with his stormy blue eyes. Payne continued to whip the boy, his back beginning to bleed._

_"I'll—"_

_"Twenty more," boomed Robert. "If you speak again, Ser Ilyn will remove his tongue."_

_"Stop it, Arya!" cried out Mycah. He was sobbing, barely able to stand. But though his pain, he managed to shoot her a pleading look. "For seven's sake, you're making it worse. Please, stop!"  
_

_Arya stood and silently watched the rest of the punishment, balling her hands into fists so tight that her nails cut into her skin. Blood dripped down her palms by the time Payne finished, and Mycah had passed out from pain. The red cloaks dragged him from the room, and Arya could only look at the floor in shame._

_"Defy me again girl, and your friends will receive worse than a whipping. Now get out of my sight."_

Now the small council gave her explicit instructions every time they sent her out so she could never purposely misunderstand them again. She stopped defying them when she realized it was easier to keep her head down and do what they wanted. At least then they left the people she cared about alone. Though there weren't many of those people left. Mycah had stopped talking to her after the first whipping, and the rest of the small folk did their best to ignore her.

She kicked her horse into a faster pace, partly because she wanted to get home faster and partly because she wanted to lose the Hound. She had no such luck as they entered the Kingswood. Luckily the snow had stopped falling, only a thin blanket covering the ground.

She was eager to train with Jaqen tonight. She had been gone from King’s Landing for two weeks now, spending most of her time tracking down a group of raiders in the Stormlands. She had developed a system with Jaqen. If he was available to train her, he would leave a single red oak leaf underneath her pillow. She would check before she went to bed. If she found an oak leaf, she would meet him in the Godswood at midnight to practice the water dance. She usually climbed out of her window to avoid being detected.

He was a much tougher teacher than Syrio had been. He had no words of encouragement and became her outlet for anger. He would sometimes disappear for months at a time with no explanation and she would be left to practice alone in the Godswood.

After hours of riding, the Red Keep slowly appeared in the distance. The sun was setting and Arya had to hold up her hand to shield her eyes. Arya kicked her sand steed into a gallop, this time leaving the Hound in the dust. Although Stranger was fast, he was no match for her horse. The gold cloaks guarding the gates stepped aside as soon as they met her Graceling eyes.

She slowly the horse to a trot as she moved through King’s Landing’s cobbled streets covered in a dusting of snow. She already felt claustrophobic and wanted to scream at the common folk blocking the way to move. When she finally arrived at the castle, she was met by Tommen.

She dismounted her horse and gave him a tired smile. Tommen quickly looped her arm though his own, muttering, “Allow me to escort you to your chambers.”

She was surprised at his urgency. Tommen was usually holed up in the library or in his room. He had no way of knowing that she would be back right then and must have been waiting in the courtyard for a long time.

“What in Seven Hells has gotten into you?” asked Arya. Tommen was practically dragging her through the castle. He shot a pair of servants walking by an easy smile before a nervous look reappeared.

“I thought I should tell you before they ambush you at dinner today,” said Tommen. “Your sister is here. She’s staying in the Maidenvault. About a month ago, my father sent for Willas Tyrell to replace Stannis Baratheon as the master of ships. He was in Winterfell courting your sister. Your parents sent her so she could learn the ways of the southern court.”

Arya was shocked. Perhaps if she read the letters her family sent her, she would have known that Sansa was coming to the city.

“Why didn’t the Hand warn me?” she asked. Tywin usually took it upon himself to tell her what was happening in the North. For the past two years, her father had been focusing on rebuilding the wall. She pretended to be bored whenever he spoke of her family but always paid close attention.

“They didn’t know your sister was coming until after you left,” explained Tommen. “They’re holding a feast tonight for Joffrey's courting. A lot of girls have arrived at the Red Keep. Your sister is expected to be betrothed to Willas Tyrell, but nothing has been announced. You’re expected to attend the feast.”

Arya snorted, pulling her arm out of Tommen’s grasp. “Ha. As if your mother would allow me to come to Joffrey’s courting feast,” she said. “Perhaps I should pretend that I want him for my husband.”

Tommen couldn’t help but laugh. Arya smiled at him, glad she had one friend her age. Tommen had grown since she’d met him. He was now almost four inches taller than her and had shed the baby weight he had in childhood. He was very skinny and was always impeccably dressed (Arya always made fun of him, saying he wore nicer clothes than she did). He had cut his blonde hair shorter. “I’m serious, Arya. They already gave you new dresses.”

“Gods, why can’t they just leave me in peace?” muttered Arya.

Tommen shrugged. “I just wanted to warn you so your sister wasn’t a surprise. I know you haven’t really been in touch with your family and that you two didn’t get along,” he explained.

Arya gave him a tight smile. “Thank you, Tommen. I can make it from here. I’ll see you tonight,” she said.

She finally arrived at her room and saw her handmaiden, Shae, waiting with an array of dresses to choose from. When Cersei had embarrassed Arya at a feast after she arrived with tangled hair, Tyrion took it upon himself to find Arya a respectable handmaiden. Perhaps respectable wasn’t the right word for Shae. Arya suspected that Tyrion and Shae had some sort of secret relationship and would even go as far to suspect that Shae had worked on the Street of the Silk.

Still, Arya couldn’t complain. When they first met, Shae had cupped Arya’s face with her hands and exclaimed that she had the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. “Gold and silver!” she had said. “Like jewels!” Arya had later learned that Shae’s brother had a Grace. Even though he wasn’t dangerous, she saw how people shunned him. Shae never could tell if it was because of his mismatched eyes or his ability run swifter than a deer.That was all Arya had learned about her past. She had a Lorathi accent but she didn’t really know anything else.

“Wild wolf!” called out Shae in her thick accent. Shae had short black hair and was quite slender. “How was your journey? You will be attending the crowned prince’s feast tonight. The queen sent new dresses.”

Arya rolled her eyes and looked at the dresses she had to choose from. “That’s it?” she asked with disbelief. “Where are all of my old dresses?”

Shae shrugged. “The queen insisted that they weren’t suitable,” she explained. She helped Arya get undressed and shooed her towards the tub, roughly scrubbing away the dirt caked onto her body.

“I had plenty of suitable dresses,” grumbled Arya, sinking lower into the water. “I don’t want to go to the stupid feast.”

Shae began to hold up dresses, not bothering to ask Arya’s opinion. She normally decided what Arya wore to these events. “And why is that?” asked Shae. “Don’t you want to marry the crowned prince?” Arya burst out laughing as Shae tried to hide a treasonous smile.

“Perhaps you should try and find a husband before your parents marry you off,” suggested Shae. Arya decided she was clean enough and climbed out of the tub, wrapping herself in a towel.

“They won’t marry me off,” confidently said Arya. “I have a killing Grace.”

“But you are still a daughter of a Great House,” pointed out Shae. “Your father is Warden of the North. You may be a Graceling, but you are a Stark.”

Arya toweled herself off, frowning.  _Am I?_ she thought. 

Shae placed a hand under chin as she gazed at the dresses. “The red or the blue?” she finally asked.

“Blue,” Arya answered in a heartbeat. Shae looked up, surprised that she actually had an opinion. “I will never dress in Lannister colors.”

Shae shrugged and helped Arya into blue woolen dress. It was woven with silver threads. She took in a deep breath as Shae laced up the back, wondering how insulted the royal family would be if she feigned illness to avoid the dinner.

 _You haven’t seen anyone in your family in years_ , thought Arya. _It’ll be nice to see Sansa._

Shae finished lacing the dress and began to brush Arya’s hair, yanking through the knots. Arya barely felt the brush, wondering how much Sansa had changed since she had seen her. In truth, she dreaded seeing her sister again.

Shae parted her hair down the middle and took two pieces of hair from the front, braiding them away from her face. They met at the back of her head. Shae left the rest down to dry. She helped Arya put on her jewelry, forcing her to stand up so she could look in the mirror.

“My sister is the pretty one,” promised Arya as she looked at her reflection.

“But you have the eyes of a queen,” promised Shae. “The feast starts soon, wild wolf. You’ll avoid attention if you arrive on time.” With that, her handmaiden left the room, leaving Arya sitting at her vanity. She saw her sword belt sitting on her bed and walked over, looking at the two blades that hung on it.

 _Needle_ was the first. She refused to go anywhere without the sword. It was growing too small for her hand and Jaqen told her that she must find another blade. So she went to Tywin and said that she needed a larger sword but still wanted a slender blade. Tywin found her the perfect one. She could do without the golden (and obviously Lannister) hilt but thanked him anyway. She didn’t bother naming the blade because she hadn’t grown attached to it.

She suddenly reached under her pillow and pulled out the red leaf, smiling a bit when she realized she could train with Jaqen tonight. She supposed it was about time to head downstairs into the Queen’s Ballroom. She walked slowly, knowing this feast was going to be worse than usual.

Out of all of her family members, of course Sansa had to come. The one sibling she had never gotten along with and the one who would judge her role in Robert’s court the most. She didn’t think her family knew exactly what she did and perhaps they foolishly believed that she was only a bodyguard.

She finally arrived at the Queen’s Ballroom and was glad that this feast could only host a hundred people. She had been to much larger feasts in the Great Hall.

The feast was already well under way, Arya keeping her head down as she sat at her usual seat three rows below the royal family’s dais. She glanced at the guests sitting on the high dais besides the royal family. She didn’t recognize many of the ladies but her heart stopped when she saw Sansa laughing, sitting in between a young man and woman with curly brown hair.

It seemed impossible but Sansa had grown more beautiful since Arya left Winterfell. Her long red hair was done in some ornate southern style (which Arya thought looked hideous on most people but Sansa managed to pull it off) and her cheekbones had grown much higher. A beautiful silver gown showed off her womanly curves. She looked so much like their mother that Arya felt her heart ache for Winterfell. 

 _Any husband will be lucky to have her,_ thought Arya.

“Look who finally decided to join us!” a nasally voice called out from above. Arya finally stopped staring at her sister to notice that Joffrey was sneering down at her. “How many throats did you cut today, Graceling?”

She moved in front of the dais. Arya glanced at Sansa to see her sister staring at her with an open mouth. “None yet, Your Grace,” she answered in a careful tone. 

“You should bow to your prince, Lady Arya,” said Cersei with pursed lips.

Arya simply sighed and gave a shallow curtsey, bitterly thinking, _This is what it’s come to. They say jump, I ask how high._

The smile on Joffrey’s face only grew wider. Arya’s eyes darted around the dais, looking for a way to change the topic of conversation. Robert, of course, was so drunk that he merely stared at the orchestra with glazed over eyes. The rest of the court didn’t bother to step in. Tyrion was sending Arya apologetic glances but she asked him to stop standing up for her a long time ago. It just made things worse for both of them. Tommen was nervously drumming his fingers on the table while Myrcella looked quite embarrassed. Cersei looked pleased that Arya was in this situation. Tywin was pretending like he didn’t notice but Arya knew that he saw everything that was happening in the room.

“Perhaps you don’t recognize your sister, Lady Sansa,” said Joffrey. “It’s taken some time but she’s finally learned how to dress like a proper woman.”

“Of course I recognize Arya, Your Grace,” said Sansa, oblivious to the torment Arya was receiving. She walked down the dais and wrapped her sister in a hug. Arya tensed for a moment and realized she should return it. “You look very pretty.”

“So do you,” said Arya with a forced smile. “You like like mother.”

Sansa smiled, clasping her hands. “I’ve missed you dearly, sister. I’m so glad that you’re here too. You’re so lucky! I would have done anything to grow up in the Red Keep.”

She couldn’t hide the scowl that appeared on her face with that comment. _Lucky?_ she thought. _You’re just as stupid as you were when we were children._

With impeccably bad timing, Robert had chosen this moment to snap out of his drunken state, finally noticing that Arya had arrived.

“Arya Stark!” he slurred out, standing from his chair. He had to use the table to steady himself. “Are you happy to see your sister?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” solemnly said Arya.

Robert turned his gaze towards Sansa. “Your sister is an extraordinary killer, she really is,” he said. He suddenly turned to Barristan Selmy behind him and began to ask questions about how many people Arya has killed.

As soon as it was clear that Robert wasn’t going to speak to her again, Arya said to Sansa, “You should go back to the dais. If you’ll excuse me.”

She didn’t even bother giving an excuse. She had to get away. Away from Robert’s laugh, Tommen’s smothering concern, and Sansa’s questioning eyes. She found herself running through Red Keep, tearing out her hair pins. She knew she looked like a madwoman but couldn’t care less.

She stopped running, out of breath and sweating, when she found herself in the Godswood. She walked to the bare red oak tree and sat below, tearing out the rest of her jewelry and tossing it aside.

“A girl should be more careful with her possessions,” called a voice from the darkness.

“They’re not mine,” answered Arya. Jaqen came out of the darkness, for once dressed in normal clothing. “They’re the crown’s. I could care less what happens to them.”

Jaqen picked up her earrings and necklace, slipping them into her hand. “A girl is unhappy. Was her trip not successful?” he asked, leaning against the tree.

“The trip was fine,” she muttered. “My sister is here.”

“A girl has spoken of her family often,” said Jaqen. “Does her sister’s arrival displease her?”

“We never got along,” shrugged Arya. “And I can already tell, she’ll side with the royal family over me.” Arya suddenly stood, holding up her fists. The bottom of her dress was covered with melted snow but she didn’t feel the biting cold. “I just need to train today.”

“A man cannot train today. Or tomorrow, or the next day. His time in Westeros has run out,” he said.

That suddenly explained his travel clothing. “You can’t leave!” blurted out Arya. “What about my dancing lessons?”

“You mastered the water dance a long time ago. It is time that I leave,” he said.

Arya sighed, knowing that nothing she would say would keep him here. “Can I ask you something?”

Jaqen nodded.

“How did you escape from the Black Cells? Was it hard?” she asked. “They’re inescapable.”

“No harder than taking a new name, if you know the way,” he said.

“Show me how,” Arya said in a determined tone. “I want to be able to do it, too.”

“If you would learn, you must come with me. Far and away across the Narrow Sea to Braavos.”

“My dancing master was from Braavos.”

“To be a dancing master is a special thing, but to be a Faceless Man, that is something else entirely. The girl has more raw talent than anyone else could possibly hope to possess. She could be the Many Faced God's strongest servant. Giving the gift to everyone who has wronged her."

There was silence for a moment, Arya thinking of what he was saying. He was offering her the ability to kill without getting caught. “I've done enough killing,” she finally answered. She lowered her head. "I don't want to kill anymore than I have to."

“Then we must part,” said Jaqen, straightening out. “A man has duties as well.” He dug around in his pocket before holding out his hand. “Here,” he said, dropping an item into her palm.

“What is it?” she asked curiously.

“A coin of great value,” he said. She held the coin up to her face and could see that it wasn’t from Westeros. First, it was made of iron. And second, one side of the coin was blank while the the other had a hooded figure. The coin must have been so old that the face rubbed off.

“What can it buy that gold can’t?” she asked with confusion.

“It does not have the same value as gold,” patiently said Jaqen.

Arya’s face scrunched up. “Then what good is it?”

“If the day comes when you must find me again, just give that coin to any man from Braavos and say these words to him, ‘Valar Morghulis’,” he said. Arya knew those words; it meant, ‘All Men Must Die’ in high Valyrian. He pulled the hood of his cloak up.

Arya reached out and grabbed his hand. “Please don't go, Jaqen,” she said desperately.

When he turned back, Arya realized that his face was no longer his own. A thick cap of black curls sat on his head and his face was much wider. A long scar ran through his eye. Arya let his wrist slip through his hand as she opened her mouth with shock.

“Jaqen is dead,” the man said. “Say it. Valar Morghulis.”

“Valar Morghulis,” quietly repeated Arya.

The man smiled. “Good. Farewell, Arya Stark.”

He left Arya clutching the iron coin in her hand, the wind whistling through bare branches of the tree.

* * *

“The queen won’t want me there, Sansa,” sighed Arya. Sansa had been trying to spend more time with Arya and seemed to want to repair their relationship. Her sister had been in King’s Landing for over a month now and always insisted that Arya join her on walks or for dinner with the other ladies. This forced Arya to dress up all the time.

“Nonsense,” said Sansa. “You are technically a lady of the court. Besides…Lady Olenna is hosting, not the queen.”

Arya frowned “Another person to ask questions about my Grace,” she muttered. “I don’t remember how to act during tea.”

Sansa laughed. It was a light, musical sound; nothing like Arya’s snorting laughter. “Even you couldn’t have forgotten how to act during tea. Do you remember when mother made you practice for a week straight after you spilled tea on Lady Umber?”

Arya sighed, knowing that she was beat. “You have a point. Who’s going to be at this tea party?” she asked, trying to hide the disgust in her voice.

“Well Lady Olenna and Margaery, of course, and all of her cousins,” started explaining Sansa. “The Queen and Princess Myrcella.” She continued to ramble on about the other unimportant ladies that would be there.

Sansa led her to a closed balcony in the Maidenvault where many of the ladies were already waiting. A beautiful, browned hair girl ran up to Sansa, an earnest smile on her face.

“Sansa!” she cried out, clasping her hands. Arya stepped back, wishing she had pockets to shove her hands into. She hated dresses. “I’m so glad you could join us.” She looked at Arya, not at all bothered by her Graceling eyes and said, “You must be Arya Stark.”

When Arya’s eyes met her big, brown doe-like ones, she realized who the girl was and said, “Lady Margaery.” Tommen talked about her all the time, and Arya suspected that he was very fond of her. Too bad it appeared as if Joffrey was to marry her. She gave a slight curtsey as Margaery looped Sansa’s arm though her own, Arya hesitantly following behind. They were lead over to a covered balcony overlooking Blackwater Bay.

An older woman was sitting at the table. She wore a green dress embroidered with golden roses. She was very small and wore a matching green headpiece. Arya realized that this was the famous Queen of Thorns, Olenna Tyrell. The real head of House Tyrell.

“Allow me to introduce you to my grandmother, Lady Olenna Tyrell,” said Margaery in a light tone. The older woman held out her hand as Sansa kissed it. Arya did the same. “Grandmother this is Lady Sansa and her younger sister, Lady Arya.”

“The Stark girl with the killing Grace,” supplied Olenna. Arya tensed, not knowing if the woman was trying to insult her. She continued to meet the woman’s sharp gaze, unflinching. Olenna smirked a moment later, seemingly impressed with Arya's bravery. 

Their staring contest was interrupted when Queen Cersei and Princess Myrcella walked onto the balcony. Arya glared at the two red cloaks that followed behind them. All of the ladies around the table curtseyed, Arya following after a moment of hesitation.

The two began to exchange pleasantries with the other ladies before they took their seats.

“I didn’t know you would be joining us today, Lady Arya,” said Cersei, her voice dripping with venom. “You’re not off killing anyone?”

“No, Your Grace,” answered Arya. “I’m surprised your brother didn’t tell you.”

Most of the girls at the table didn’t seem to notice Arya’s blatant insult, but Arya swore that she saw the Queen of Thorns smile. She knew she would pay for that insult later but it did get Cersei off her back.

Myrcella moved along the conversation. “How are you enjoying King’s Landing, Lady Sansa?” she asked with a kind smile. Arya didn’t mind Myrcella; she had all of her mother’s beauty and none of her nasty demeanor.

“I love it,” she gushed. Arya almost rolled her eyes. “The Red Keep is so beautiful and the weather is lovely. I do miss my direwolf, though.”

Cersei sneered. “Better to keep the wild beast away from humans,” she spat out. “Your sister couldn’t control hers.”

Sansa looked surprised. “Is that why Nymeria isn’t here?” she asked. Arya simply nodded, gripping the edge of the table. “Well, she always was too wild.”

Arya glared at her sister for that betrayal, noticing the queen's smirk. As servants filled teacups and served finger foods, Arya began to eye the knife placed in front of her. _I could ‘accidentally’ cut myself and get excused to go to the Maester. Sansa always thought I was too clumsy,_ she thought. _Or I could stab Cersei. Both are wonderful options._

As she weighed the pros and cons of both, Arya slowly realized that Sansa was cutting her out of the conversation. She purposely kept steering the topic away from Winterfell or even King’s Landing, asking the Tyrells questions about their home. It was almost like she was embarrassed by Arya.

She couldn’t handle this talk about needlework, knights, tourneys, and lemon cakes. Cersei finally managed to bring the conversation back to Gracelings. “Your brother is a Graceling, is he not?” she asked Margaery.

Lady Margaery nodded. “Yes, Loras is a Graceling. He is a gifted warrior,” she said. Arya had heard of the famous knight of flowers and wondered if he would come to King’s Landing for a tourney. She thought he would replace Meryn Trant on the Kingsguard but Robert picked Ser Amory Lorch, another shit knight with a shit personality. 

“A killing Grace seems wasted on a lady, wouldn’t you think?” asked Cersei. “Although you weren’t much of a lady to begin with.” Some of the women at the table laughed and Arya felt the little resolve she had left crack when she saw Sansa suppress a smile.

“I disagree, Your Grace. Man, woman…it doesn’t matter. If I’ve learned anything from killing, it’s that everyone dies the same. It doesn’t matter if it’s by my hand or someone else’s. Death waits for no one, and anyone can be killed,” promised Arya, hardening her gaze. _Even you,_ she wanted to add.

She stood, smoothing out her skirts. “I have to go,” she said. She shot Cersei a forced smile. “I am late for my lesson with Ser Jaime.” The smirk on Cersei’s face fell when she heard her brother’s name again and Arya knew she had won that battle of words this time. She walked off with her head held high, deciding that even if Sansa invited her out again, she would refuse.

* * *

After her sparring session with Ser Jaime, Arya walked back to her room covered in sweat and dirt. She was surprised to see Sansa sitting on her bed, holding one of her daggers by the blade.

“That’s not how you hold it,” said Arya from the doorway. She slowly walked in, wondering why her sister was there.

“Oh,” said Sansa, placing it back under her pillow. She began to fiddle her thumbs.

“What can I do for you?” asked Arya.

“Well, mother and father sent me to King’s Landing because mother wanted me to learn the southern ways of the court. Willas spent a year in Winterfell courting me. Once he was called south, they decided it would be good for me to travel with him,” said Sansa.

Arya hoisted herself onto a table in the room, letting her legs dangle. “And?” she asked.

“That’s not the only reason why they sent me. They wanted me to check up on you,” honestly answered Sansa. “You haven’t answered anyone’s letters in two years. They miss you and worry about you. Father even wrote to Lord Tywin, asking if you were healthy.”

Arya clenched her fist. Tywin kept that from her.

“I stopped answering your letters because I have nothing to say to anyone,” shrugged Arya. “They sent me to rot in King’s Landing. I’m not going to pretend like I’m okay with it anymore.”

“They didn’t have a choice,” started Sansa. “A Graceling must—“

“I know the stupid law!” snarled Arya, slamming her fist on the table. “And I know they had to send me here. But they didn’t have to send me alone.” She took a deep breath, calming herself down.

“They sent you with ten guards, two handmaidens, and Willas,” said Arya. “I came here with no one. They couldn’t even bother to send me with a guard.” She let out a bitter laugh. “I hate this shit hole and everyone in it. You’ll learn to hate it too, Sansa. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll return home while you still have the chance.”

Sansa’s face turned red. “King’s Landing is beautiful!” she yelled. “It’s the most important city in Westeros. You need to grow up, Arya. If you acted like a lady they would have accepted you.”

“I’m not a lady!” yelled back Arya. “That’s the problem. I have a killing Grace, Sansa. I always expected them to shun me for that. I never expected them to force me to pretend that I’m a lady. I’ve grown up, Sansa. You haven’t. You still believe that your life will end up like a fairytale, that you’ll marry some gallant knight or prince. Trust me, the only honorable knight left is Barristan Selmy. All of the others are murders, rapists, and traitors.”

Sansa shot to her feet. “You haven’t changed at all,” she said, shaking her head with disappointment.

“This was good for us, Sansa. We don’t have to keep pretending to get along anymore,” said Arya in a flat tone.

Arya opened the door to her room, effectively kicking Sansa out. Sansa gathered her skirts and with a poised, practiced look she walked out of the room. When Arya was sure she was far enough away, she slammed the door to her room, buried her head in a pillow, and screamed as loud as she could.

* * *

Arya slipped her hand onto the golden pommel of her sword as she walked through the streets of King’s Landing. They had just left the Sept of Baelor from the ceremony for the Festival of the Mother. Arya wanted to slam her head against the marble walls as she listened to the septon drone on but at least she was out of the Red Keep. She didn’t give a shit about the gods anymore, the old or the new. Like Syrio had said, _There is only one god and his name is death._

She didn’t bother wearing a dress for the ceremony; after her conversation with Sansa, she decided she would wear pants everywhere (even if she had to wear them to someone’s funeral). Sansa looked absolutely scandalized every time she saw Arya’s breeches and long sleeved tunic. She wore her sword belt and boiled leather breastplate too, just to piss her off more. A black cloak lined with white fur sat on her shoulders.

Arya walked in the front of the group. The crowds parted to the side as they passed through but were silently staring. Arya felt her stomach flip as crowds were never this quiet. The common folk looked gaunt and starving, probably because the city was experiencing a major food shortage. Arya overheard from guards that food from the Reach wasn’t flowing into the capital as it used to because pirates had been raiding all of their ships. She heard Tywin explain to Robert that they must speak to the Greyjoys before the problem got any worse but, as usual, the king brushed off the problem and said that the Greyjoys wouldn’t rebel a second time.

As she glanced into the blank, hollow eyes of a starving woman, Arya began to move at a quicker pace, hoping the others would follow her example.

One moment there was silence, and the next the streets erupted into violence. She hadn’t seen what happened behind her, but she heard Joffrey screaming, “Bring me his head!”

The crowds collapsed in on them. Arya drew her sword and cut down the first man that approached. “Clear a path!” she heard Barristan Selmy call behind her. “Protect the king!”

She did just that. She knew exactly where she was going and that they weren’t too far from the Red Keep. Arya cut through the rioters like butter, dancing out of the way of their fists. The guards had the doors to the Red Keep wide open and were struggling to hold back a flood of peasants. Arya made it into the castle first and soon nobles and other guards followed behind them.

She ran over to a bleeding Tommen, helping him sit. He had a large cut over his eye. “Get the prince help!” she commanded to a servant, dabbing at his cut with the end of her sleeve. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Joffrey and Robert screaming at each other. Cersei was trying to diffuse the situation as red cloaks ran to bar the doors.

Robert slapped his son in anger, leaving a huge red mark. “Do you know what you’ve done?” he bellowed. “Someone threw a cow pie at you and you called for the crowds’ heads! They’re starving, you fool! We’ve had idiot kings, and we’ve had vicious kings, but you’ll make history when you become the first idiot-vicious king!”

Arya ignored their interaction, instead surveying the room. Servants were beginning to help the injured away. Arya scanned the faces and felt a pang of fear when she saw that her sister was nowhere in sight.

Arya saw Margaery Tyrell being comforted by Tyrion Lannister. She strode over and asked, “Where is my sister?”

“I…I don’t know,” quickly answered Margaery. She couldn’t make eye contact with Arya. “She was with Joffrey.”

Arya felt her blood run cold as she stood on her tip toes, looking for her sister’s red hair. “Where is Sansa Stark?” she yelled. She was met with uncertain eyes.

“She was too slow!” shouted Joffrey, turning his back to his father. “Let them have her.”

Arya rushed forward, grabbing Joffrey by his collar and slamming him against the wall. She knew there were many swords pointed at her, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Joffrey looked terrified. “What did you do?” she snarled.

“She…she was slowing me down!” squeaked Joffrey. “She fell near the Hook and—“

Arya didn’t wait for the rest of his story, instead shoving him towards the ground. He landed on his bottom, looking up at her with fear.

Arya bared her teeth and turned on her heels. “Open the gate!” she snarled to the guards.

They looked uncertain, knowing what she was capable of. “We’ll be overrun if we do,” said Tywin from behind her. “The guards outside will help your sister."

She turned over her shoulder, glaring at Joffrey. “If she’s hurt, I promise that when I’m through with everyone in this room, what I did to Meryn Trant will seem like mercy!” she roared. She quickly scaled the wall and leapt into the rioting crowd.

She landed on two fighting commoners below. She began to cut through peasant after peasant, none coming close to touching her. All she could think was, _She can’t be dead. She can’t be. I should have been protecting her._

She had killed ten men by the time she heard a girl’s screams coming from an alleyway. Arya sprinted down it to see four men pinning Sansa down, trying to rip off her clothes. Sansa tried to fight them off but they overpowered her. Before the man could unlace his pants, Arya swung the sword at his neck, decapitating him in one clean blow.

The other two let go of Sansa’s arms and legs. Arya gutted the closest one, his intestines spilling out on the ground. One of them managed to slip past Arya she killed the second man, running back into the riot. _No matter,_ she thought. The man was bald and had pock mark scars on his face. _I never forget a face. I’ll track you down soon enough._ The other tried to run but realized he was cornered.

He fell to his knees. “Mercy!” he called out, clasping his hands. “Please, mercy!”

Arya clenched her jaw. “You think I’ll grant you mercy for what you were about to do to my sister?” she spat out. She cut off the man’s hand with a flick of her wrist. He screamed in pain, clutching the bloody stump. Arya drove her sword through his throat, annoyed when she saw that her new tunic was soaked with blood.

She quickly turned and walked back towards Sansa. Her sister was still lying on her ground. Her dress was ripped and her hair was a mess. Her lip was bleeding from where one of the men must of hit her. Arya dropped her cloak in her sister’s lap, as the cold never bothered her.

“It’s alright, Sansa. You’re safe now,” she promised. Arya gave her sister a reassuring smile as she held out her hand.

Sansa flinched as soon as Arya moved her hand forward, the smile dropping from her face when she realized that her sister was terrified of her. “Come on, Sans,” she said, picking a childhood nickname she had used when she and Sansa got along. “I’ll protect you.”

Sansa hesitantly took her hand, following behind her. The streets were still madness. Arya watched as a group of men tore off a red cloak’s arm, wondering what could have possessed them to rebel like this. Sansa gasped in fear and covered her eyes.

Arya firmly gripped Sansa’s hand, holding the sword in her left. “Just keep holding my hand,” said Arya. “We’ll be back to the Red Keep before you know it.”

She began to jog at a slow pace so Sansa could keep up. Arya cut down any man that approached them. She had to push Sansa out of the way a few times. When they arrived at the gates of the Red Keep, Arya banged on it with her fist. “Let Lady Sansa through!” she commanded.

The guards seemed genuinely surprised that they made it back. They quickly opened the gates and Arya pushed her sister inside. She was met by Willas Tyrell who wrapped his arm around her, helping her sit. Arya stepped back outside, slamming the gate behind her.

“What are you doing?” called out Tyrion from behind the bars. “It isn't safe!”

“One of them got away,” gritted out Arya. “I’m going to find him.”

The next two hours were a red blur. She cut down more men than she thought physically possible, literally leaving a trial of bodies in the street. She aimed for bald men, mostly, but had to kill the others that attacked her.

She finally found the man that attacked Sansa raiding a shop in Flea Bottom. “Valar Morghulis,” she hissed as she stabbed him in the back. She continued to drive her sword into him again and again until she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She spun around to stab her assailant but they managed to block her arm. She realized she was stopped by Sandor Clegane. “Enough, wolf girl!” he yelled. “He’s dead. The riot is over.”

Arya slowly looked around and realized that the streets had been empty for a while now. She looked down at her blood soaked clothes and wondered how long she had been stabbing that man for. The Hound shot her an uncertain glance. “Was this you?” he asked, gesturing out into the street.

Arya saw that the blood from all of the people she killed was already starting to freeze on the streets. “I don’t know,” she honestly answered.

A low chuckle escaped from his throat. “I thought you didn’t enjoy killing,” he said.

Arya simply glared at him, spitting out, “Shut up.”

The adrenaline she had felt during the riot was starting to wear off and Arya felt her muscles trembling with exhausting. The walked through the gates of the castle and Arya turned to go to her room. “The Hand wants to see you,” firmly said the Hound.

Arya sighed, allowing Sandor to lead her to the Tower. She groaned when she saw the steps leading up to Tywin’s rooms and slowly began to walk up them. They walked into Tywin’s office to find him arguing with Varys.

He nodded to the Hound. “Leave us,” he said. Both Varys and the Hound left the room, leaving Arya alone with Tywin.

She didn’t bother asking permission but dropped into a chair, slumping down. She just then realized that she was still clutching her sword and let it clatter to the ground. “You gave us quite the scare,” he said. “First jumping over a wall to save your sister, then refusing to come back into the castle until you found all of her attackers.”

“Why am I here?” tiredly asked Arya. “Don’t you have to solve the Greyjoy problem before there is a second rebellion?”

A displeased look crossed his face. ““It’s winter,” he said in a flat tone, ignoring her suggestion. “The common people always starve. Do you need a maester?”

Arya waved her hand. “It’s not my blood,” she said. “You don’t care if I’m unharmed. You want to know how many men I killed, don’t you? And if I could do the same in a battle.”

Tywin let out a short breath through his nose, almost like he was amused. “If you weren’t so bold, you could make a great leader,” he mused.

“I don’t know how many men I killed. Fifty?” she guessed. She suddenly shook her head. “They were unarmed, so it was an unfair fight. I’m fairly certain I could do the same on the battlefield. Will there be a war soon, my lord? Robert can’t ignore the Greyjoys blatant threats any longer.”

Tywin looked back down at his map said, “You don’t have to worry yourself with that, Lady Arya.” But with his tone, Arya could tell that she did have to worry.

“I have a request,” she said. Tywin raised an eyebrow; Arya rarely asked for anything. “Keep my sister away from Joffrey.” Joffrey still hadn’t accepted a match yet and Arya heard that Sansa was a possibility.

He stared at her for a moment and Arya feared that the king had already made his decision. “You will be relieved to learn that the king has picked Margaery Tyrell for Joffrey’s wife. Your father has accepted Willas Tyrell’s proposal.”

“Thank you, my lord,” said Arya with a sigh of relief.

“May I ask why?” said Tywin, watching Arya curiously.

Arya barked out a laugh. “You saw what he did today. ‘Let them have her,’ he said. I don’t want that bastard any—“

“Careful, girl,” warned Tywin. Arya recognized that voice. It was the one he used when his patience was wearing thin. She realized she had gone a step to far with the bastard comment. Everyone had heard the rumors of Joffrey's true parentage, but no one spoke of it. “I enjoy you, but be careful.” He nodded towards the door.

“Go get yourself cleaned up,” he said.

Arya nodded and left the room, walking back to her chambers. Servants scuttled out of her way when they saw her approaching, many glancing at her with looks of shock. She sighed with relief when she saw that Shae had already drawn a bath for her.

Her handmaiden was waiting, watching her with pursed lips. “How am I going to get these stains out?” she cried.

“That’s what you’re worried about,” said Arya in a dry tone. “What about my wellbeing?”

“Pshh,” said Shae with a wave of her hand, helping Arya out of her clothes and into the water. Arya began to scrub the dried flakes of blood off of her body. “You’re never hurt.”

“Fair enough,” said Arya. “Will you do me a favor and get my sister? I think I scared her today.”

“Of course,” said Shae, quickly leaving the room to find Sansa. Arya took a deep breath and stuck her head underwater attempting to hold her breath for as long as possible. She played this game until Sansa finally arrived, hesitantly approaching the tub.

“Are you alright?” Sansa asked. She seemed fearful, like she didn’t want to be near her. A bruise was forming on her face and her cut had scabbed over.

“I’m fine,” said Arya with a wave of her hand. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s not your fault,” quietly said Sansa. “You saved my life. I wished you had let the gold cloaks take care of it.”

Arya sighed, sinking a bit lower into the water. “It was foolish, I suppose, but all I could think was that the man who tried to hurt you was going to get away with no punishment. It took me a while, but I did find him.”

Sansa gave her an uncomfortable smile, glancing towards the door. “Well, I’ll leave you to get dressed now,” she quickly said. She left the room with her head down, Arya sighing.

She wanted to hide her Grace from Sansa, hoping that she would never see what she was capable of. The weight of what she had done to the rioters was hanging heavy on her shoulders and she sighed, sinking back under water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! New one will be up in a week. 
> 
> I know some of you wanted to see more of Jaqen, but he only had a sort of cameo in this story. No promises that he will appear again in the future. As of now he will not.
> 
> Next chapter: Arya meets a certain blue haired boy from Tyrosh...


	7. Braavos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion must travel to Braavos as an emissary to the Iron Bank. Arya accompanies him and meets someone who understands her ordeal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your amazing comments!

Sansa wrapped her sister into a tight hug as they stood on the docks of the harbor. A large boat was waiting in the water, servants running by, carrying trunks and crates onto it. The snow was finally melting, the harbor unfreezing, the sun staying out for longer…spring was here. “Please, be careful. You don’t speak the language or know the city,” Sansa said.

Arya brushed off her concerns with an easy smile. “Don’t worry about me, Sans. I’ve never been more excited in my life. I’m worried about leaving you here. With them,” she snarled, looking at Cersei and Joffrey.

“I’ll have Willas and Margaery with me,” said Sansa with a wave of her hand. Arya glanced a few feet away to see Sansa’s fiancee standing with his sister Margaery.

Arya actually liked Willas and thought he would make a good husband for Sansa. He was quite tall and had brown eyes and short brown curls. He always looked like he was smiling. Arya never asked Sansa if she was bothered by Willas’s lame leg. During a joust with Oberyn Martell years before, Willas’s leg got caught in a stirrup as his horse went down, leaving him crippled. He used a cane to help him walk. Arya learned from Tommen that Willas buried himself in breeding the finest animals in the Seven Kingdoms after his accident.

A year had passed after Willas came to King’s Landing before Ned Stark accepted the match Mace Tyrell (really Olenna Tyrell) presented to him. They were holding off on their marriage because Cersei insisted there could not be any large wedding until after Margaery’s and Joffrey’s. Margaery and Joffrey had to wait until their party returned from Braavos.

“I’ll be right back,” suddenly said Arya, making a move to talk to Willas.

Sansa grabbed her arm. “Arya, please—“

“You don’t have any brothers here,” said Arya with a wolfish grin. “I’ll just fill that role.”

Arya walked up to Margaery and Willas, for once happy to see a bit of fear crossing over their faces. “Congratulations on your betrothal, my lady,” she nodded towards Margaery. “You’ll make a good queen.”

“Thank you, Lady Arya,” she said with a kind smile.

“I have to talk to your brother,” said Arya. “We won’t be long.” Margaery shot her brother an uncertain glance before walking away.

“I like you, Willas, I really do. You treat my sister well and she absolutely adores you. You’d have to be held in high esteem if my father accepted your proposal,” started Arya, staring out towards the ship. “Highgarden will make a good home for Sansa. But for as much as I like you and the Seven Kingdoms trusts you, I know that opinions can change.”

She suddenly took a step forward, narrowing her gold and silver eyes at Willas. She jabbed a finger into his chest. “If I ever hear that you’ve hurt my sister, or if she’s even unsure of how she feels about her marriage, I won’t hesitate to kill you. Understand?”

She had to give Willas credit. He swallowed down his fear and nodded, saying, “I would never hurt your sister, Lady Arya. I love Sansa, truly, I do.”

Arya nodded, shooting Willas an easy smile. “I believe you,” she said. She looked out towards the royal court to see Joffrey and Robert bickering. “And I’m glad she’s marrying you.”

She felt a tap at her shoulder and saw Tommen standing behind her. He opened her arms and gave her a large hug. “I’ve read a lot about Braavos,” he explained. “Did you know they have canals instead of streets? You have to travel everywhere by boat.” He pointed to _Needle_ on her sword belt. “Be careful with that. Any Bravo can challenge you to a fight if you wear a Braavosi sword on your hip. They honor every god and—“

“I’m sure I’ll learn about all of that,” said Arya the corner of her mouth tilting up. Behind her, she heard Joffrey and Robert begin to scream at each other. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”

Tommen shrugged. “I’m supposed to visit Casterly Rock with my grandfather while you’re gone,” he explained. He suddenly nodded towards the ship. “You better get going.”

The captain of the ship began to yell that they were boarding and Arya gave Tommen a large smile. She gave her sister one last hug before bounding up the platform set down. Tyrion had already boarded the ship and was looking out onto the dock, waving. He had a flask of Dornish wine in his hand at smiled at Arya, his face flushed.

“I think we’ve done it,” he said quietly, mischief glinting in his eyes. The crew raised the plank to board the ship and scurried around, raising sails and clearing supplies off the deck.

When the ship began to pull out of the harbor, Arya began to laugh. For the first time in years, she was free from the royal court.

“Thank you,” she quietly said.

“No need,” said Tyrion with the wave of his hand. “I simply needed another guard and my father agreed that you’ve been working very hard lately. He is very soft on you, you know?” he asked with a grin. “You have my intelligence, Cersei’s vigor, and Jaime’s fighting ability without our faults. His perfect child.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Or he just has higher expectations for his children,” she said. Tyrion took another long swig of his wine.

The crown was in debt, that much was clear. With Tywin refusing to spend more of his own money to fix the problem, he sent Tyrion to Braavos to negotiate with the Iron Bank. The negotiations were expected to take many months.

“Shouldn’t Baelish be here too?” asked Arya, glancing towards the dock. The septon was blessing the ship as they pulled away. “He is the master of coin.”

A sly grin grew on Tyrion’s face. “I merely suggested to Robert that it would be ludicrous to leave the city without someone in charge of the coin,” he said. “Baelish was all to eager to agree, after I had Varys blackmail him."

Arya raised her eyebrows in shock. “By the way, the negotiations are expected to take two months at most,” said Tyrion. A small smile crept on his face. “I thought we could both enjoy some time away from the court.”

Shae suddenly came up behind him, wrapping her arms around him. “I’m feeling sick, m’lord,” she feigned, holding a hand to her forehead with a sly grin. “Help me below deck.”

“Get a room!” playfully shouted Arya, stomping up to the upper portion of the deck. She leaned against the wood, looking out onto the Narrow Sea.

 _Even if it’s only for a few months, I can’t believe I’m getting out of there. Braavos,_ she thought, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the iron coin. She ran her fingers over the worn out face.

“Valar Morghulis,” she whispered to herself.

* * *

“Come back by sundown to escort me back to the apartments,” said Tyrion as they stood outside of the Iron Bank. “And please, try not to get into too much trouble.”

Arya winked. “No promises,” she said gleefully as she turned on her heels, running down the stairs leading up to the large bank. She knew Braavos was wealthy but didn’t realize just how wealthy it actually was until she saw the Iron Bank. It was a huge, ornate building.

One of the first things the representative form the bank said to Tyrion was, “Your throne took to many gambles.”

Tyrion simply smiled and responded. “So did you, but you won all of yours. And now you built this.”

From the moment she passed through the Titan’s legs, she loved absolutely loved Braavos. The city was scattered over thousands of islands. It was further north than she expected, and was quite foggy. The Braavosi seemed quite friendly, even if Arya couldn’t understand the language.

She stopped at the Canal of Heroes, the largest canal in all of Braavos, watching ships pass through the Titan’s legs. She thought of the last time she saw Jaqen.

They spoke in the Red Keeps Godswood, Jaqen handing her the iron coin. He explained that if she handed the coin to anyone from Braavos and said the words, “Valar Morghulis”, they would take her to the House of Black and White. Then he changed his face and disappeared. She wanted to see him again but he was offering her a way to kill people without getting caught.

She decided that her fears outweighed her desire to see Jaqen so she pulled the coin out of her pocket and walked over to the closest rowboat. The man sitting in it was just about to push the boat away when she asked, “Do you speak the common tongue?”

As the man looked up, he said, "Some." He had black curly hair and a thin beard, wearing the beige colored clothing that most common Braavosi did. 

Arya held out the coin and said, “Valar Morghulis.”

She had never seen someone so terrified. His eyes widened and his lower lip trembled. The man answered after a moment, whispering, “Valar Dohaeris. Where did you get that?”

Arya ignored his question and climbed into the boat. “Bring me to the House of Black and White, please,” she said.

The man nodded, barely making eye contact as he rowed through the canals. Arya looked at the buildings as he rowed. The city was extremely crooked and some of the buildings leaned so much that they almost touched the buildings on the other side of the street.

The man rowed her to a small island in the center of Braavos. “This is the Isle of Gods,” he whispered. “We worship every god in Braavos.”

“That’s nice,” said Arya, as they passed a huge temple with a large fire burning in a brazier.

The temples began to get more spread out when the man stopped at a rocky knoll. A large temple with a set of black and white doors sat at the top. “We are here,” he said with a solemn face. “My name is Tyto Bhaeri.”

Arya simply nodded, repeating, “Tyto Bhaeri.” He seemed to relax a bit. She hopped off the rowboat, thanking the man again.

Arya climbed up the steps carved into the rock, stopping at the doors. The temple was huge and quite intimidating, towering over her. She shivered, wondering if she should have come here. _It’s a temple, Arya. Stop being such a baby. Even Sansa wouldn’t be this cowardly._

The two doors were huge, standing ten feet tall. The left door was weirwood, the right ebony. She raised her hand to knock, but her fist froze before she could. 

 _Is this really what I want?_ she thought.  _Jaqen was an assassin. A killer trained to follow orders. Do I not already do that for King Robert?_

She slowly lowered her fist, feeling the weight of the coin heavy in her pocket. With sudden clarity, she realized that working for the Faceless Men would be no different than working for the King. She turned on her heels and walked down the steps, reaching into her pocket and grabbing the coin. Standing at the edge of the steps, she looked down at the worn iron face one last time before hurling it into the water as far as she could. It landed in the murky canal with a small  **plop**.

Arya waited to flag down a ride back to her apartment. 

* * *

Arya smiled into her cup of milked tea, choosing not to drink wine like the others. It made her head too cloudy to think. She was sitting at dinner with Tyrion, Shae, and Bronn, Tyrion’s new guard. The sellsword had a lean, wolfish appearance, with dark hair, dark eyes and a stubble of beard. He has a black sense of humor and didn’t have any qualms about killing. He was the best sword fighter Arya had ever met without a Grace.

“I once walked into a brothel with a honeycomb and a jackass. The madame says—Shae!” scolded Tyrion. Shae accidentally knocked over a glass of wine, drunkenly gigging.

“I’m sorry, m’lord,” she said, climbing into his lap. Arya rolled her eyes at their over-the-top display of affection. She began to move her head down to his crotch, whispering, “I can clean it for you…”

“Seven hells!” shouted Arya. She pushed her plate away, standing up, adjusting the mask sitting on her face.

“Don’t take it off,” warned Tyrion. “The Braavosi take this festival very seriously.”

“Well I think it’s stupid,” scoffed Arya. The damned thing was itching.

Of course Tyrion chose to travel to Braavos during the Unmasking. The ten day long festival celebrated the Unmasking of Uthero, an event in Braavosi history in which secret city announced its existence to the world. It is named after Uthero Zalyne, who first dispatched envoys of the Iron Bank to Valyria to pay settlements to the grandchildren of the owners of the ships Braavos' founders had seized and then sent forth ships throughout the world announcing the existence and location of Braavos and inviting the men of all nations to celebrate the 111th anniversary of the city's founding.

The anniversary of the Unmasking was currently on its tenth day. Arya was glad the stupid thing was almost over so she could take of her mask. Supposedly at midnight tonight the Titan of Braavos roared and all celebrants would take off their masks. Tyrion’s mask was real gold and was in the shape of a lion. Shae had chosen one in the shape of a butterfly covered in jewels (that Tyrion had paid for) while Bronn chose a beaten down brown mask. Arya chose a simple grey mask that only covered the area around her eyes.

 _Sounds like something Sansa would love,_ thought Arya.

Tyrion suddenly stood up, walking towards the window. He climbed on the sill and shouted out, “What time is it?”

A celebrant walking through the street answered, “Ten by the Titan’s roar!”

Tyrion suddenly jumped to his feet. "Gods, I almost forgot about the auction!" he shouted. The other two seemed to understand what he was saying and began to move around the room, grabbing cloaks and weapons. 

"Am I missing something?" asked Arya, crossing her arms. "What auction?"

"The Sealord invited me to an auction at his palace where he is selling rare and valuable items. I wouldn't miss it for the word. It starts in half an hour. Gods, if I miss this..."

Arya sighed and grabbed her sword belt, following her companions through the city. They walked out into Braavos’s streets, her companions sharing a flagon of Dornish wine. Arya observed hundreds of Braavosi out and about. They managed to flag down a passing oarsmen and Tyrion paid him double to get them to the Sealord's palace as fast as humanly possible. Ten minutes later, they stood in a crowded room in the palace with other wealthy Braavosi. It seemed that the auction was well under way, and Tyrion angrily muttered to himself. 

The auctioneer clapped his hands, heading to the stage. One servant wheeled out a cart with a white sheet covering a long item. "Our last item for sale is a valuable blade. A blade as famous as it's wielder. Thought to be lost beyond the wall, I have managed to procure this item." He clapped his hands and the servant pulled back the sheet, revealing a Valyrian steel blade. 

Arya gasped. Its hilt was a silver color and inlayed with rubies. The blade itself was a dark, smoky grey with ripples, proving that it was Valyrian steel. It was thinner than most swords.

"Visenya Targaryen wielded this very sword during Aegon's Conquest. During the Dance of Dragons, Prince Daemon Targaryen leapt from his dragon and drove the sword through Prince Aemond Targaryen's eye. Prince Aemon Targaryen, the Dragonknight, was the greatest jouster and swordsman of his age, a knight worthy to bear Dark Sister. And the last wielder of the sword, Lord Brynden Rivers, the Bloodraven himself, brought the sword to the Wall. We will start the bidding at fifty thousand golden dragons for the legendary blade,  _Dark Sister._ "

Tyrion shot to his feet before anyone could raise their hand, shouting, "Two hundred thousand golden dragons!" Murmurs erupted across the room, and people began to leave. 

"Two hundred fifty," a gruff voice called out at the edge of the room. Arya turned to see two blue haired men standing there, one young, one old. The younger one looked to be only a few years older than Arya and eagerly stared at the sword. 

"Three hundred," said Tyrion. The bidding war went on for some time, before only Tyrion and the blue haired man were left. The two stood next to each other in the front of the room.

“Move along, half man,” growled the older man. “I am buying this sword.”

"That blade is Valyrian steel. My father has been looking for a Valyrian steel sword for a decade," answered Tyrion. "I won't leave this room without it."

"Then we will be here for a while." The bidding had stopped for the moment at five hundred thousand golden dragons, a price Arya found absurd, even for a piece of history.

“Do you know the name Lannister?” Tyrion asked the man. "The richest house in Westeros. I am Tyrion Lannister, son of Tywin, brother of the queen, and the heir to Casterly Rock. A Lannister always pays his debts, my friend."

“Father, please,” said the younger man. Arya noticed that he was more of a boy than a man. He had a light voice and seemed amused by the whole situation. He took a step forward towards Arya’s group. “Perhaps I can make the deal more interesting. We’ll split the price half and half if you give me a chance to fight for the blade.”

Tyrion raised his eyebrows. “A duel?” he asked. The boy nodded.

Arya tried to hold back a laugh. He was very arrogant. Tyrion would never accept an offer so—

“Why not?” Tyrion suddenly shouted, holding up his hands. Arya groaned when she realized how drunk Tyrion was. Tyrion signed a receipt to pay half the price, but it seemed that the blue haired man wasn't happy. 

The father looked enraged and grabbed his son by the collar. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

The young man shrugged. “Having some fun,” he said. He brushed off his father’s hand and moved towards their group, picking up the new sword. His father angrily relented, working out a plan of payment. 

“I know a place to duel,” said the boy. “Follow me.”

Arya’s group followed behind the young man in his angry father towards the Sealord’s Palace. He lead them to Braavos’s main square, right in front of the Moon Pool. The fountain was fed from the sweet water basins that ran all throughout the city, bringing fresh, drinkable water.

The young man turned to them. “Right then!” he said in a cheerful tone. He nodded towards Bronn. “I already have a Valyrian steel sword of my own,” he said, gesturing towards his hip. Arya saw a hand-and-a-half longsword hanging from his hip. The blade was just the right size to allow the user to switch between one or two hands. “So it wouldn’t be a fair fight unless you have one too. You can use this one.” He tossed the new sword at Bronn.

Bronn let out a harsh laugh. “You think you’ll be fighting me?” he asked. “No, no, no.” He pointed his thumb at Arya, handing her the sword. “You’ll be fighting the little lady.”

The boy raised his eyebrows under his red and black mask and took a step forward. “What’s your Grace?” he asked.

Arya was finally close enough to notice his eyes. _I could drown in them,_ she thought. He was a Graceling too. One dark blue eye, one violet eye.

 _Killing, though I won't do that tonight. He seems too nice for that_ , thought Arya. She noticed that the boy looked a bit confused. "What's yours?" asked Arya. 

“I asked first,” teased the blue haired boy. He was wearing typical charcoal colored Braavosi clothing and his blue hair fell to almost his shoulders. He tied the top part of it away from his face. “Well, the hour grows late, and we must duel. I promise, I won’t hurt you.”

“This is foolish,” said his father, clenching his jaw.

“You have to learn to celebrate, father!” said the boy. He unsheathed his own sword, the Valyrian steel glinting in the moonlight. He tossed the sheath to the side and moved into the Moon Pool. “Here we are, at the most magnificent festival in the world. We even have a chance to win another Valyrian steel sword.”

Arya turned back towards her group. “My father will have my head if you lose,” Tyrion said with a smile.

“You had a chance to buy the sword,” muttered Arya. She pulled off her sword belt, tossing it to the side so it would stay out of her way. She unsheathed the new blade, listening to the satisfying hiss. “And I never lose.” She let her cloak fall to the ground and moved into the Moon Pool across from the boy.

He shot her an easy, relaxed smile, moving into his stance. It was typical for Bravos to fight directly in the Moon Pool. Syrio had explained to her that a water dancer could “fight and kill upon the pool’s surface without disturbing the water itself.”

She would test that theory, without the killing of course. The boy seemed foolish but kindhearted. She moved into the water dance stance.

She was almost surprised with how fast he moved. In an instant, he was pressing her deeper into the fountain. She frowned, wondering what his Grace was. She danced out of the way of his blade. She began to smile as they fought, realizing that he was the first real challenge she had had in a long time. And he was fun to fight, too. If she came close to nicking him with her sword, he would feign insult and mockingly gasp.

At one point, he managed to knock her onto her feet, directly into the fountain. She made a splash as she landed. She heard her companions cheering for her to get up. Her sword clattered aside and he pointed the blade at her throat, thinking the fight was over.

Arya had a different idea. She kicked his wrist, forcing him to drop the sword and knocked him into the fountain. They were grappling on the ground, both hysterically laughing, when Arya finally managed to get the upper hand. She straddled him, slipping a hidden knife out of her sleeve and gently pressing it to his throat.

“Yield,” she said in a breathless tone.

The blue haired boy’s mismatched eyes widened as he realized that he was beaten. “I yield,” he finally said. Arya slipped the knife back up her sleeve and was about to get off of him when the Titan let out a huge roar.

It was midnight, and was time for the Unmasking. Tyrion and the others pulled off their masks and whooped with joy, Bronn finishing the flagon of wine while Tyrion and Shae kissed.

Arya barely noticed what was going on around her, staring into his eyes. They slowly reached out and pulled off each other’s masks, grinning when they saw their faces for the first time. He had long eyelashes and a square jaw. His skin was quite tanned and he was well-built.

He slowly began to close his eyes and lean forward, moving his lips towards Arya. She suddenly gasped and smacked him in the face.

“Don’t do that, stupid!” she yelled.

He rubbed his reddening cheek, a smirk spreading on his face. “Don’t get up on account of me,” he said in a joking manner. Arya’s cheeks burned red. “It was only a jest. I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m Griff,” he said, holding out his hand.

Arya shot him a suspicious look. “Arya,” she said after a moment’s hesitation, shooting him a suspicious look.

“I truly didn’t mean to offend you Arya. But I will admit, that’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I think you can guess by now that I have a fighting Grace. Though it was no match for yours,” honestly said Griff.

Arya shrugged. “You’re the best I’ve fought in a long time,” she said. “It’s hard to find formidable opponents."

His eyes widened, but he seemed impressed. “I haven’t met many women with a fighting Grace,” he said. “To tell the truth, I haven’t met many people who can beat me in a fight.”

Arya looked down at their sopping wet clothes and laughed. “I haven’t actually enjoyed sparring in years,” she said honestly.

Griff smiled, picking up both swords. They walked out of the fountain as he ran his fingers through his blue hair. He handed her the new Valyrian steel sword and said, “You’ve earned it."

“ _Dark Sister,_ ” smiled Arya. She held up the blade, recognizing that it was much more slender than a normal sword. _Dark Sister_ was designed to have a woman’s grip and was similar to a rapier, though a bit thicker. 

Tyrion slowly clapped. “You two put on quite the show,” he said. “My father is going to be very happy.”

“You may have paid for the sword, but I fought for it,” said Arya, picking up her sword belt. She fastened it on her waist, slipping _Dark Sister_ onto the sheath too. “It’s mine now.”

Tyrion simply shrugged. “It’s my father’s gold,” he said. “And I never could wield a blade well. Keep it. The price was well worth the show.”

He suddenly smiled at Griff, sticking out his hand. “As I told the seller before, I am Tyrion Lannister,” he said. “Master of laws in King Robert’s court, heir to Casterly Rock.”

Griff hesitated for a moment, a dark look appearing on his face. It disappeared after a second but his joking tone was gone. “Griff,” he said in a rough tone. He glanced to where his father was standing. The man had left already, probably because he was so angry. “Best I get going. I’m never going to hear the end of this.”

“Good to meet you, Griff,” shouted Tyrion. “If you ever want a place to fight, I’m always looking for new bodyguards.” Griff simply nodded and walked away.

Arya glanced towards her group before saying, “I’ll catch up with you later.”

She dashed after Griff, quickly catching up to him. “Do you work for him?” he asked in a clipped tone.

Arya didn’t know why his mood changed so suddenly. “In a way,” she defensively said. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What's wrong with you?”

Griff quickened his pace, almost like he wanted to lose her. “My family has had problems with Lannister soldiers in the past,” he said.

Arya barked out a bitter laugh. “Who hasn’t?” she mused out loud.

Griff furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Why do you work for them then?”

Arya sighed, beginning the long winded explanation. “In Westeros, if the king orders it, Gracelings have to work for them. I’ve been working for King Robert since I was nine years old,” she sneered. “I jumped on the opportunity to come to Braavos. Any time away from that shit hole of King’s Landing is heaven.”

Griff shot her a curious glance. “It’s not like they can stop you from leaving,” he said. “They would need twenty Gracelings to stop you.” They walked over a bridge, dodging past drunken partiers. “Why don’t you go?”

“My family isn’t in a position to disobey the king,” she said uncomfortably.

“You don’t seem to like them,” observed Griff.

“Tyrion is actually very kind,” said Arya. “Nothing like most Lannisters. His father has taken a liking to me but I can see why half the Seven Kingdoms fears him. Queen Cersei is a bitch.”

Griff smiled at that. 

“Jaime is an arse. Although he’s better without Cersei,” explained Arya. “Princess Myrcella is very kind and Prince Tommen is one of my closest friends. King Robert is a drunken idiot. And Prince Joffrey is the worst shit in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Careful, Arya,” he said with a small smile. “Your words approach treason. But I won’t tell. If you’re still in Westeros when Joffrey becomes king, you’ll have to work for him, won’t you?”

“Even my loyalty to my family wouldn’t keep me in the Seven Kingdoms to work for Joffrey,” spat out Arya. She shot Griff a curious glance. “Why do you speak the common tongue?”

“My father is from Westeros,” he said. “The Stormlands. He moved to Tyrosh and met my mother. She passed away when I was born.”

They suddenly stopped at a dock were a large ship was docked. “You don’t have a fighting Grace, do you?” he suddenly asked.

Arya took a few steps back. “Yes…yes I do!” she spat out, regaining her composure.

A small, knowing smile grew on his face. “You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “That’s where I live.” He nodded towards the ship. The name _Shy Maid_ was written on the side. The boat was an ugly old ramshackle single-masted with a large lateen sail. Shocking for someone who was willing to pay half a million golden dragons for the sword. “I don’t think you should come in. My father is going to give me an earful.”

“Can we train together again?” she asked hopefully.

Griff smiled. “Tomorrow at dawn? I’ll win,” he bragged.

Arya laughed. “You wish,” she teased. “Sleep well, Griff.”

“And you, Arya.”

She walked into Braavos’s narrow streets, her cheeks burning red. Griff was an arrogant fool who made her feel like she was on top of the world. _I’ve never met someone like him,_ she thought. _And his eyes…blue and violet…_

She stopped so suddenly that she nearly toppled over. “Gods!” she shouted out loud. “I’m turning into Sansa!”

She arrived at the apartments, pushing open the door and climbing up the stairs. She passed the dining room along the way where Tyrion, Shae, and Bronn were playing some type of drinking game.

Shae and Tyrion were holding their hands over candles, staring at each other. The heat seemed to have no effect on Shae while Tyrion seemed to be in tremendous pain.

“Are you in pain, my lion?” asked Shae.

“No,” gritted out Tyrion.

“No? You look like you’re in agony,” she observed. Tyrion finally pulled his hand away from the flame, gasping in pain.

“Are you immune to pain?” he asked, glaring at her.

“Just used to it,” joked Shae.

Arya attempted to sneak upstairs. “Ah, so the little wolf is finally back,” shouted Bronn. She internally groaned, walking towards the table.

“We didn’t think you were coming home tonight,” teased Shae. Arya didn’t think it was possible, but her face burned a brighter red.

Tyrion suddenly stood up, stumbling a bit from the wine. He placed his hands behind his back, shooting her a stern look. He deepened his voice and said, “Arya Stark, there will be no flirting under my watch. My father would have both our heads!”

“Gods!” yelled Arya, picking up a pillow and throwing it at Tyrion. “I wanted to ask him if he’ll _train_ with me.” The three burst out laughing, Arya throwing more pillows at Shae and Bronn. “I need someone as skilled as me! It’s not my fault you’re a shit opponent!” she yelled at Bronn.

“That’s a fine excuse,” nodded Tyrion. “Robert would certainly buy it. But what happens when your Tyroshi boy looks deep into your eyes, brushes your hair out of your face, moves to kiss you.”

“I’ll punch him in the face,” said Arya in a determined tone.

“No you won’t,” said Shae. “Blue haired or not, eyes like those could melt any girl. If it wasn’t for us, you two would have fucked right in that fountain.”

“Aghh!” screamed Arya, clasping her hands over her ears. Their laughter echoed throughout the house. “You are disgusting!” She stomped up to her room and slammed the door, leaning against it.

She changed out of her sopping wet clothes and examined the new blade. _I’m surprised he gave it up so easily. Especially because we didn’t agree to use hidden blades._

She couldn’t stop thinking about the blue haired Tyrioshi boy. How could he tell that she was lying about her fighting Grace? She was looking forward to their fight tomorrow. _Stupid!_ she suddenly admonished herself. _You don’t know him at all. This is exactly how Sansa talks._

But even after that, her cheeks blushed pink when she thought of the end of her fight. As she fell asleep, she couldn’t get the image of his blue and violet eyes out of her head.

* * *

“How is this going to help me?” complained Arya. She was standing on the deck of the _Shy Maid_ as Griff pulled a blindfold over her eyes. His father was working and everyone else was at the marketplace besides Rolly Duckfield, or Duck, as everyone called him.

Griff had many strange companions on his ship. First was his father (who was also named Griff. Her Griff was technically Young Griff but she didn’t bother with the first part of his name) who glared at Arya with more hatred than she ever thought possible. She simply ignored the man whenever she was aboard the _Shy Maid_. His tutor Haldon sometimes watched their sparring sessions along with Septa Lemore. Both seemed quite suspicious of her but thought that she was a good companion for Griff. Then there was Rolly, the young knight in service to Griff.

There was something strange about Griff. Duck had been training him to fight since before he could walk. He could read and write, he spoke several tongues, he studied history, law, and poetry. A septa has instructed him in the mysteries of the Faith since he was old enough to understand them. Arya didn’t understand where his father got all of his gold from or how he paid his companions to stay with him. She thought Griff was more important than he was letting on.

It was her sixth month in Braavos. Tyrion was able to extend their time abroad by saying that the Iron Bank needed more proof that the crown would pay back their debts. It was a flimsy excuse and she was sure Tywin saw through it but he hated his son enough to want him out of his way.

She and Griff had become very good friends, even closer than her friendship with Tommen. Tommen was understanding but she could never speak freely about her hatred for his family around him. With Griff, she was free to express her feelings. It seemed that he was able to sense her mood just by looking at her.

“Because you seem to have already tried every other training technique I’ve thrown at you,” responded Griff. “Seriously, Arya, it’s getting old. What haven’t you done?”

Arya thought back to the training Meryn Trant put her through. He once made her train against ten men in full armor with only her bare hands. She beat them, of course, but he verbally berated her when she fought more defensive than offensive. At least he was dead now.

“This,” she muttered, adjusting the itchy fabric over her eyes. She spun the long stick Griff had given her in her hands, waiting for him to attack. She received a sharp smack on her thigh. “Hey!” she shouted.

Griff hit her again on her shoulder. This blow especially stung. Arya wildly swung her stick, feeling it hiss though the air.

Griff asked. “You’re going to have to try harder,” he teased. And she did. It seemed that when blindfolded, she was no match for Griff. She was about to give up when she heard a familiar hissing sound, raising her stick with both hands to block Griff’s.

Before he could move any further, she tackled him to the ground and tried to pin him down. Even with the blindfold Arya was able to get the upper hand, triumphantly holding his arms down with her knees. She pulled the blindfold off her head and shouted, “Ha!”

She couldn’t decide which one of his eyes was prettier. Both were so dark they looked like the sky right after the sun set. Arya was so distracted by his eyes that Griff was able to flip her over onto her stomach, twisting her arms onto the small of her back.

He leaned down and murmured, “You’re very cocky, you know?”

“Young Griff!” a rough voice called out from the edge of the deck. Both Arya and Griff scrambled up to see his father standing there with the others, disproving looks etched on all of their faces.

“It isn’t polite to hit a lady,” sternly said Septa Lemore.

Griff laughed and said, “Arya is no lady. Just ask her.”

Arya shrugged, feeling slightly uncomfortable. “It’s true,” she said.

The three adults glanced at each other before making their way below deck. “Be careful,” warned Haldon. “I’m not stitching you up again.” Arya sighed with relief when they were gone; his companions made her quite uncomfortable. They all, besides Lemore, seemed to hate her for no reason.

Arya and Griff sat on the railing of the ship, dangling their legs over the water. “You don’t have a fighting Grace, do you?” he suddenly asked.

Arya was flustered. “I do!” she quickly answered. She grew angry and clenched her fists. “Why do you keep asking me that?”

“It’s alright, Arya,” he said with a shrug. “I know you’re afraid that I’ll judge you. To be honest, I’ve been lying about my Grace too.”

“What?” she asked.

 _He has to have a fighting Grace,_ she thought. _Otherwise he’d never come close to beating me._

“I have beaten you a few times, you know,” he said with an easy smile.

Arya was about to counter his answer when she realized that Griff had responded to her before she even opened her mouth. She gasped and said, “You have a mind reading Grace.” Her face twisted with anger. “So you already know that I have a killing Grace.”

“I suspected as much,” he said. Arya rose to her feet and crossed her arms. He held up his hands as a gesture of peace. “I didn’t mean to deceive you. But you lied too,” he pointed out.

“I…” she trailed off. She didn’t know what to say. “How long have you known?”

“Since I first met you,” said Griff. “You didn’t have to say anything.”

Arya glared at him again. “So you’ve known everything that I’ve been thinking?”

“Well, only the thoughts directed at me,” he said. “I don’t exactly have a mind reading Grace. It’s perception.”

“Perception?” slowly asked Arya.

Griff nodded. “I can sense the world around me, even thoughts when they are direct at me. I don’t have any control over this, Arya. I would never purposely read your thoughts, or anyones. I’ve had to filter out the voices in my head since my eyes settled,” he explained.

Arya sat back down next to him again. “Aren’t you afraid of me?” she quietly asked.

“Of course not,” said Griff. “You’d only hurt someone if they’d hurt you. I’m your closest friend,” he boasted.

“Shut up,” she said, but she couldn’t hide the smile on her face.  _But I have hurt innocent people_ , she thought. 

“I just thought we should be honest with each other,” he said. After a moment of silence, he continued. “You’re only the fifth person to truly know what my Grace is. Some slave master would have paid for my capture and would have put me to work.”

“Like me,” bitterly said Arya.

“You should stay in Braavos,” he suddenly said.

“I can’t,” she said sadly. “My family is in Westeros. If I disobeyed the king by refusing to come back, he would strip me of my name and truly send me into exile. If I tried to return home, my family would be expected to turn me in.”

Griff looked shocked. “Your own family would betray you like that?”

Arya was about to say, _No, of course not,_ when she thought of her father’s code of honor. After his brother and father’s deaths, he married Catelyn and claimed the title of Warden of the North because it was the righteous thing to do. He brought Jon home with him because he considered it more dishonorable than to leave him fatherless than to bring a bastard into his home. And he sent Arya south to serve as the crown’s attack dog because it was his duty to obey the law.

Before she could answer, a voice called from below deck, “Griff! Your lessons!”

She was relieved that she didn’t have two answer. Arya slid off the wooden railing. “I should go,” she said. She was gone before Griff could say another word.

* * *

“What is it?” called out Shae. They were lounging in their residence, eating a late meal. Shae and Tyrion had come back late from the play _The Lord of the Woeful Countenance_. Arya didn’t want to know how much he paid for the expensive boxed seats at the Blue Lantern, Braavos’s largest playhouse. Both Bronn and Arya were invited but they both passed; Arya was training with Griff while Bronn was at some whorehouse.

Tyrion held a piece of paper in his hands sealed by the Lannister sigil. Arya sat up straighter, knowing that nothing good was to come out of that letter. Tyrion sighed and broke the wax seal, reading the letter.

When he glanced at Arya, she simply asked, “When?”

“My father has arranged for a boat to take us back tomorrow,” he said in a dejected tone. “He wrote the letter and sent it with the captain, telling him to give it directly to me once he arrived. He says that six months is an absurd amount of time to spend on negotiations for the Iron Bank and Mace Tyrell took over my role on the small council. If we don’t take that ship, my position will be gone.”

Arya suddenly stood up, running to her room and grabbing her sword belt, _Dark Sister_ and _Needle_ hanging from it. When she came back, Shae said, “Wild wolf—“

“I’m going to see Griff,” she said, clasping a cloak over her shoulders. She walked out of their house, pulling the hood of her cloak up as a light drizzle fell.

She didn’t know what she was going to tell Griff. _It’s been wonderful knowing you for six months, but I have to go back across the Narrow Sea and serve a king that I absolutely despise,_ she thought. She had finally been able to enjoy herself in Braavos and let loose. She was a prisoner in King’s Landing.

Tyrion seemed just as upset as her. In Braavos, he was able to go out in public with Shae. There were no spies to watch him and report back to his father. Tyrion told her that his father warned him that if he ever saw Tyrion with a whore in public again, he would hang her. Arya didn’t doubt it.

 _You could stay,_ she thought as she walked over a canal bridge. She realized that she was passing over the bridge of the Long Canal, Braavos’s largest waterway. The First Law of Braavos was engraved on an arch over the canal: **no man, woman, or child will ever be a slave, thrall, or bondsman**. _A Graceling is just a rare and valuable type of slave. Westeros has a similar law yet they force us to work for the King._

She arrived at the _Shy Maid_ and climbed aboard, knocking on the door that lead below deck. Griff opened it a second later, asking, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “I need to talk to you.” Even with her assurance, her voice cracked.

Griff’s eyebrows furrowed with concern and he stepped out onto the deck with Arya. He led her to a covered area where they could stay out of the rain and they sat on stacks of crates. “What’s wrong?” he asked, scooting closer.

Arya looked down at her hands sitting on her lap. She bit her lip and muttered, “I leave tomorrow.”

Griff didn’t respond for a moment. “This is very sudden,” he said. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

Arya suddenly perked up. “Come with me,” she said. “Tyrion is always looking for new guards. He’ll pay you well, and you can live in the Red Keep near me. We can—”

“I can’t,” gently said Griff.

“Why not?” asked Arya. “You always tell me how much you want to see Westeros. We can visit the Stormlands where your father grew up. And you’ve said that it’s well past time you leave the Shy Maid.”

“I can’t, Arya,” he said. “It’s too dangerous for me.”

“Why?!” she shouted, shooting to her feet. “You’ve been hiding something. You and your father both dye your hair. You have your own master of arms, tutor, and septa. And it's impossible to be this rich from fishing. Why are you lying to me?”

Griff sighed, looking down at his shoes. “Jon isn’t my father. He fought with my real father during Robert’s Rebellion.” His voice took on a sharp edge. “My father perished at the Trident. Tywin Lannister had his guards slaughter my mother and sister. They would have killed me if not for Lord Varys. He found a fair haired Graceling babe with pale eyes and smuggled me out of the city. The Mountain bashed this child’s head against a wall. Then, with his brains still on his hands, he raped my mother. When Robert Baratheon finally arrived in King’s Landing, Tywin Lannister had the bodies placed beneath the Iron Throne as tokens of his fealty. They had been wrapped in crimson cloaks to hide the blood. Varys took me across the Narrow Sea and summoned Jon from his exile. He’s raised me with a new identity ever since, hoping that one day I will take back the Iron Throne.”

“I…I don’t understand,” said Arya. “You’re telling the story of the Targaryens’ downfall. But all of the dragons are dead.”

“They aren’t, Arya. I am still alive, and my Aunt Daenerys and Uncle Viserys are still alive. I am Aegon Targaryen, sixth of his name. True heir to the Iron Throne,” he said.

Arya’s jaw dropped open. “You lied to me,” she snapped. “What, did you think I would turn you in? You couldn’t trust me with this precious information.”

“My name may have changed, but I haven’t,” said Griff, rising to his feet. “I know how loyal you are to your family. Your father helped overthrow mine. I didn’t want to put you in a difficult position. But I can’t come with you. It’s too dangerous.”

He suddenly reached out and grabbed her hand. “Stay with me,” he said. “You can live on the Shy Maid. And when I go meet my aunt and uncle, we can ride with the Dothraki horde. We'll see all of Essos, from the Free Cities to the Red Waste, Dothraki Sea, Forest of Qohor, and Shadowlands of Asshai. And when we return to Westeros, we will make lives better for the people. You know firsthand how terrible a ruler King Robert is. They deserve a better king. I’m only asking that—”

“That I betray my family!” shouted Arya. “Robert Baratheon shouldn’t be king, but my loyalty lies with the Starks. I can’t believe you would ask this of me!” She stepped out into the rain, walking down towards the dock.

“Wait!” Griff ran after her and grabbed her arm. Rain streamed down their faces. “They force you to kill and maim innocents, and then expect you to behave like the perfect lady. I just thought that you would be happier across the Narrow Sea.”

Arya knew she would be happier across the Narrow Sea. While in Braavos, she almost felt like she was a child in Winterfell. And Griff—no, Aegon—understood her better than anyone. But she couldn’t betray her family by running away with a man from the family who killed her grandfather, uncle, and aunt.

“I can’t,” she finally answered. “I know Robert is a terrible king, but I couldn’t do that to my family.”

They stood in the rain, both unsure of what to say. 

"So, this is it. I’m glad you kicked my arse for that sword," sadly smiled Griff. "You'll always have a place in my court."

Arya felt her eyes fill with tears. She stuck out her hand. “Good luck, Griff. Perhaps we’ll see each other again on opposite sides of a battlefield.”

He took a step forward, gently raising her chin with his hand. With sudden clarity, Arya realized why people thought Rhaegar Targaryen was the handsomest man in Westeros. Griff seemed to hear her thoughts, slowly leaning in and kissing her. Arya tensed at first, as she had never been kissed before, then slowly melted into the kiss, wrapping her hands around his neck. After a few moments, they broke apart.

“Goodbye, Arya Stark,” he said.

“Goodbye, Aegon Targaryen,” said Arya. She took one last look at him and then turned, disappearing into Braavos’s streets. After walking a block, she couldn't tell if her face was wet from the rain or from her tears. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aegon finally arrived! I know he's gone now, but he will appear again quite soon. Also, happy game of thrones premiere!


	8. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Tyrion arrive back to King's Landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments and kudos made me want to get this one out fast! Thank you all so much!

Arya wrinkled her nose as the ship pulled into Blackwater Bay, the small amount of freedom she had felt disappearing. The weight of a mountain pressed upon her shoulders as soon as she saw the pale pink stone of the Red Keep. She looked down into the swirling waters of the bay, wondering if she should just jump ship while she had the chance. She reached down and touched _Dark Sister_ ’s hilt for comfort, thinking of Aegon’s deep eyes.

“Something bothering you?” a voice called from behind. She turned to see Tyrion approaching, dressed in his best red and golden silks. He wanted to dress well for his arrival at the city. “Other than the smell, of course.”

“It’s nothing,” said Arya, staring down into the water. “What are you going to tell your father?”

“I’ll tell him that I managed to negotiate my way out of an impossible contract with the Iron Bank, even managing to reduce our debt by half,” easily said Tyrion.

“He won’t be happy that it took so long,” said Arya. “Robert won’t be happy either. I’m sure that he wanted to send me to kill someone.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you in Braavos longer, Arya,” said Tyrion. “I know that you enjoyed your time abroad.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she muttered. “It’s not like you’re any more excited to go back than I am. I’m still surprised that you and Shae didn’t get married.”

Tyrion sadly smiled. “My father made it clear that I am never to wed another whore. I’ll have to tell you that story another time.”

Their ship docked and they walked down the long plank, servants taking care of the bags and crates. Shae would arrive at the castle later, as it was too dangerous for her to walk with Tyrion. A group of City Watchmen were waiting with no nobles in sight. It was quite a rude gesture and Arya assumed that they were still angry that Tyrion wasted so much time in Braavos. Still, he did the impossible and managed to work out a plan of payment with the Iron Bank. Arya walked behind the others, sulking because she was stuck in the city. The gold cloaks didn’t even bother to surround her like they did with the others. Arya didn’t need their protection and she was sure that they didn’t want to give it. She avoided a pile of shit laying in the street and glanced towards the front of the group. Tyrion and Bronn were caught up in a conversation that Arya didn’t try to get involved in.

As soon as they passed Aegon’s Hill, Arya felt an incredible amount of sadness. Aegon was the only person who understood her like Jon did and she would probably never see him again. Well, that is until he invaded Westeros. Then they would end up at opposite ends of the battlefield. As the Red Keep loomed overhead, the confidence she had gained in Braavos was gone.

She gripped _Dark Sister’s_ hilt, turning around and walking back down the hill. She couldn’t go back to the confinements of the castle yet. She felt her stomach growl as she walked down the hill and smelled the bread baking from the Street of Flours.

She cut onto the street where the majority of the bakers were located, ducking through the crowds. It was early morning when most of the city dwellers got their shopping done. Arya walked into one of the better bakeries and bought herself an entire loaf of bread. She tossed the baker three coppers and tore into it with her teeth. After her stomach was adequately filled, she tossed the baker her entire sack of coppers and filled her arms with loaves of bread. Once she tied an eyepatch over her golden eye to hide her Grace, she walked to Flea Bottom, wrinkling her nose at the smell. She then began to tear off hunks of bread and hand them out to the homeless children begging on the streets.

She usually avoided giving them money because often times they reported to an adult at night who would take all of the money they earned during the day. That action disgusted her and when she told Tywin about it, he said that the realm had more important things to worry about. She received many wide smiles, learning from her past mistakes not to hide her eye. Her eyes were the most recognizable in all of King’s Landing.

She glanced towards the sky to see that it was taking a pinkish hue, sighing when she realized that they would begin looking for her soon. She quickly walked back to the Red Keep, using a servant’s entrance to avoid detection.

She was walking back to her chambers when she realized that she should probably see Sansa. She made her way to the Maidenvault, raising her hand and knocking on the door of Sansa’s large chambers.

Her sister answered in a dressing gown, only half her hair styled. “Arya!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around her sister’s neck.

Arya awkwardly patted her but couldn’t hide the smile on her face. Sansa’s face suddenly flushed and she pulled back, placing her hands on her hips.

“Where have you been?” her sister demanded. “Lord Tyrion returned to the castle an hour ago. He said you disappeared without a word. They were going to search for you if you hadn’t returned by the feast.”

Sansa stepped in her room, Arya following. The handmaidens that had been doing her hair stepped outside, giving the sisters privacy.

“Am I expected to attend this feast?” groaned Arya.

“Of course. I already picked out your dress,” said Sansa. When she saw Arya’s crestfallen face, she rolled her eyes. “Be happy that it’s grey.”

Arya flopped onto Sansa’s bed. Her sister gave her an I’m-Still-Waiting-For-An-Explanation look.“I was hungry,” she finally said.

“And there isn’t food in the castle?” said Sansa. “It’s dangerous to travel in the city alone.”

“Not for me. Everyone recognizes my eyes. They’d either be a fool or a madman to attack me. How’s Willas?” she suddenly asked, changing the subject.

Sansa sighed dreamily. “Lovely,” she said. “He’s been the perfect gentleman. My wedding will be held in King's Landing, so our family will have to travel south. You’ll finally be able to see mother and father.”

“What?” asked Arya, suddenly sitting up.

“The queen wants it a year after Joffrey and Margaery’s wedding,” said Sansa, blinking with surprise. “You aren’t happy?”

“Of course not—I mean of course!” quickly corrected Arya. She attempted to smile. “That’s wonderful.”

Sansa seemed to sense that she was angry, so she changed the subject. “Did you enjoy Braavos? You look well.”

Arya sighed. “It’s the best place I’ve ever been,” she answered honestly. “There is no other place in the world like it. As your ship pulls into the harbor, you pass through the huge statue that guards the harbor, the Titan’s, leg. And the city is built on thousands of islands. Half the streets are actually canals. The Braavosi are very friendly and cultured. You would love the theater. While we were there, we celebrated the Unmasking of Uthero, a ten day festival where the entire city wears masks. On the tenth day at midnight, everyone takes off their masks.”

Arya suddenly grew silent, realizing that her chances of seeing the city, or Aegon, again were slim. “I wish I lived there,” she suddenly said.

Sansa patted her hand, shooting her a sympathetic look. “I missed you. You should probably get ready,” she said. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Arya smiled and left Sansa’s chambers, heading to her own. _I didn’t realize that Sansa’s wedding would be so soon. I suppose eighteen is almost too old for marriage. But I’ll finally see my family. I’m not sure if I should feel happy or angry._

* * *

As soon as she learned at Tommen was sick and couldn’t attend the feast, she decided to skip it too. She went to the kitchens and waited until the cooks prepared dinner for him and brought it herself. She wheeled the food cart to his room in Maegor’s Holdfast herself, knocking on his door.

She heard shuffling inside and Tommen opened the door a few moments later. His hair was tousled and his nose was bright red. He had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

He sleepily smiled when he saw Arya and said, “I would hug you but I don’t want to get you sick.”

He slowly walked to his bed sat down against the headboard, pulling his blankets over him. Arya closed the door behind her and wheeled the food over, placing a tray on the bed. Although he had plenty of food to choose from, he only wanted the bowl of pheasant soup.

Arya climbed onto the bed beside him. “You look tan. How was Braavos?” he asked in a hoarse tone.

“It was amazing,” she sighed. “The architecture, the people, the culture, the food…everything about it.”

“You got a new blade,” he said, nodding towards her sword belt.

Arya stood and with a grin, unsheathed the blade. Tommen gasped when he saw the Valyrian steel. Arya handed the sword to him and he raised his eyebrows.

“It’s very slender,” he murmured, inspecting the hilt. “How in seven hells did you get this?”

Arya grinned, taking the sword back and sheathing it. “Tyrion was locked in a bidding war for it at the Sealord's Palace when his competitor's son wanted to duel for it. Tyrion was drunk enough to agree with the deal. I fought him for it and won,” explained Arya.

“What’s the sword called?” he asked.

Arya hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should tell him that she was in possession of a Targaryen heirloom. She realized that Tommen would never betray her and would be excited that she owned a part of history. “ _Dark Sister_ ,” she finally said.

He gasped. “The same blade that Visenya Targaryen wielded during Aegon’s Conquest?” he asked.

Arya nodded. “That’s what I was told,” she said.

“That’s amazing,” said Tommen. “Just don’t tell my father. He’ll have it flung into the ocean.”

“Did Tywin take you to Casterly Rock?”

“Yes,” answered Tommen with an easy smile. He ate a spoonful of his soup. “I visited once when I was very young. I only remember swimming in the ocean. Grandfather took me last month, and I liked it better than King’s Landing. I spent a lot of time watching grandfather’s household meetings and I can already tell that ruling isn’t for me. I’m glad I’m not the oldest.”

 _But Joffrey is,_ thought Arya. _And you’d be a much better king than him._

“I’m glad I’m not the oldest daughter,” said Arya as she thought about Sansa and Willas. “I have less suitors.”

“That’s because my grandfather has been holding them off,” said Tommen.

Arya glanced at him with surprise. “What are you saying?” she asked.

“You didn’t know? My father has wanted to place suitors beside you at every feast until they found a match,” he explained. “Grandfather convinced him that it would be better to wait until after Sansa is married because you’ll be the only Stark daughter left.”

 _That’s a shit explanation and Tywin knows it,_ thought Arya. _I don’t know what he wants from me._

Tommen yawned again and pushed aside his bowl of soup. “Joffrey and Margaery will marry in a few months,” he said. “Apparently the wedding will have forty courses.”

Arya wrinkled her nose but didn’t say anything. She tried not to express her opinion about the crown’s spending habits around Tommen because she didn’t want to insult his family.

“What else has been happening in Westeros?” she asked, taking a chicken leg off of his tray of food.

He thought for a moment and then said, “My grandfather is attempting to arrange a match for Myrcella, but my mother has turned down every man so far. Right now, it seems as if she will marry someone in the Vale. Your brother Robb’s wife just gave birth for the second time. A baby girl.”

Arya raised her eyebrows in surprise. Sansa had left for King’s Landing right after Robb’s wedding and had told her all about it. At the time, Arya was quite bitter that she wasn’t invited to attend. Robb had gotten married three years before to a noblewoman from Volantis named Talisa Maegyr who moved to Westeros after being trained in the medical arts. Robb met her after getting injured after a skirmish with bandits. In hushed tones, Sansa told her that the wedding was quite small and rushed and she suspected that Robb had bedded her before he wed her. Eight months later, a baby boy named Torrhen was born.

Lately, Sansa hadn’t mentioned anything about their family. She finally realized how hurt Arya was that they never came to visit. She tried to explain that Bran’s accident five years before interrupted their plans to visit but Arya didn’t believe it. Years had passed since his accident and they still hadn’t bothered to visit.

“I have great news. Your family will be coming to King’s Landing for your sister’s wedding,” he said with a smile. Arya placed the chicken bone back on the plate, frowning.

“Wonderful,” muttered Arya.

“You’re not happy?” asked Tommen. He picked up a cloth and blew his nose. “You haven’t seen your family in years.”

“Exactly,” said Arya in an icy tone. “I haven’t seen them in years because they haven’t bothered to visit.”

“Don’t blame them for why you’re here,” softly said Tommen. “It’s a law, Arya. You’re still not answering their letters?”

“It’s not your concern, Tommen,” brusquely said Arya. “You couldn’t possibly understand.”

“Fair enough,” said Tommen.

Tommen yawned again and slid further down into his featherbed. Arya cleared off the tray and bowl of soup, placing it back on the cart. “You should get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, Tommen,” she said.

Tommen was half asleep as she left the room, blowing out a candle on the way out. She walked down the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, remembering that the paranoid Maegor Targaryen designed this part of the castle with no secret passages as the king “wanted no rats within his own walls”, as she read in one of the library’s books.

Suddenly, voices echoed from down the hall and Arya quickly looked around, realizing there was nowhere to go. Robert Baratheon rounded the corner, Barristan Selmy and Gregor Clegane trailing behind him. The king was obviously drunk as he was red faced and stumbling. Arya stopped in her tracks and stepped aside, hoping that he was too drunk to notice her.

She had no such luck because as soon as Robert focused his glassy eyes onto her he gasped out, “Lyanna?”

Arya’s eyes widened as she stammered out, “N-no, Your Grace. I’m not—“

Robert didn’t notice or care about what she was saying and reached out to grab her arm. Arya gripped _Dark Sister_ ’s hilt with her left hand and was about to draw her blade when Barristan Selmy held the king back.

“Get off me, you fool!” yelled Robert, trying to push the knight away.

Barristan tensed and held his grip. “Look at her eyes, Your Grace. That’s not Lyanna.” He shot Arya a look that screamed, _Leave now._

Arya complied and practically sprinted down the hall, her heart beating out of her chest. Barristan wasn’t trying to protect her…he was protecting the king. If Robert had actually touched her, there was no telling how she would have reacted. She didn’t know if she could control herself. Arya ran out of the Holdfast, taking deep, calming breaths. She walked across the drawbridge’s dry moat, passing the gold cloaks guarding the entrance.

When she was young, only two people ever told her that she was pretty: her father and Jon. When she told her father that she truly believed that she was ugly, he simply kissed her forehead and told her that she resembled his sister Lyanna Stark. “She was the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. So beautiful that a war was fought for her,” he said.

Arya remembered responding, “That's stupid. A war shouldn’t be fought based on someone’s looks.”

Her father sadly smiled, ruffled her hair, and said, “You’re too smart for your own good.”

But in King’s Landing, no one ever paid attention to her looks. Well, Joffrey and Cersei often flung insults about her appearance towards her. But she noticed that she hadn’t heard many insults about her physical looks lately. Back in Braavos, Aegon even told her that she was beautiful. Arya almost wished that she was ugly so she wouldn’t receive any unwanted attention.

She realized that she was gripping _Dark Sister_ ’s hilt so tightly that her knuckles began to ache. She needed to blow off some steam by getting drunk somewhere. She usually didn’t like drinking, but she wanted to forget about what Robert just did. She wondered what Aegon would have done if he was there. He probably would have killed Robert. Arya pulled the hood of the cloak up and headed to the Red Keep’s gates, telling the guards that she had urgent business outside of the castle. They were always too afraid to question her. She walked down the dark street, only a few candlelit lampposts illuminating the way. The cobbled streets were more crowded than she had seen in a long time, as it was finally spring. She finally arrived at an inn she heard Tyrion speak of before, entering the dimly lit, crowded building.

She lowered the hood of her cloak and headed to the corner of the Inn, sliding into a booth and waving over a serving girl. She lowered her head and ordered a pint of ale, emptying it within minutes. She continued to pay for the alcohol and drank halfway into the night.

At one point, the young serving girl noticed her eyes and gasped, saying, “I’m sorry, m’lady. I d-didn’t realize that you w-were here. P-please, take b-back your gold.” She placed the coins back on the table.

“You need it more than me,” softly said Arya, scooping up the coins and placing them in the girl’s hand. She then took her sack of coins and handed them to the girl. “I’m sorry that I frightened you. I’ll leave after I finish my drink.”

The girl looked surprised and said, “Thank you, m’lady.” Arya gave a nod and continued to work on her drink.

While she was sitting there, she noticed a rowdy group of men in the corner of the room. They continued to order enough drinks and food to feed half of Flea Bottom. The inn keep looked ecstatic because he knew they would have a hefty price to pay after they finished but Arya recognized them. They were off duty gold cloaks and would often go into inns, eating and drinking as much as they could. As soon as they had their fill, they would leave the inn without paying for anything. If the owner tried to get any money, they would beat him.

Arya’s thoughts rang true. A few minutes after she started her last drink, the men announced that they wanted to leave.

“You have to pay!” shouted the inn keep. “You drank through half my stock!”

The ringleader grinned. “What did you say, old man? You want to give us our ale for free?”

“I didn’t say that!” shouted the man, taking a step forward. “I’ll call the gold cloaks!”

“We are the gold cloaks!” shouted another.

The ringleader took another step forward. “You know, I don’t think that we’re quite done here yet. I’ve had my food and I’ve had my drink but what I really need is a good fuck.” He whistled at the young serving girl, grabbing her arm and pulling her onto his lap.

Six months before, Arya would have walked out of the Inn with her head down as soon as she sensed the trouble brewing. She didn't need the headache of protecting common folk who were already terrified of her from gold cloaks who could get her in trouble with the crown. But now her blood boiled and she shot to her feet, her seat flying out behind her. 

The action of rising to her feet was enough to silence the room, everyone recognizing who she was. She took a few steps forward, placing her hand on _Dark Sister_ ’s hilt.

“Let go of the girl,” she said in a low tone.

“What are you going to do about it?” began the ringleader. His back was to Arya and he hadn’t recognized her quite yet.

“I think my eyes will tell you what I’ll do,” said Arya. The man finally turned, paling when he realized who he was speaking to. He reluctantly released the girl, he and his three gold cloak friends uncertainly standing, placing their hands on their weapons. Arya nodded at the inn keep to take his workers upstairs.

“Now pay, and get out,” she commanded.

“Lord Tywin isn’t here,” began one of the men. “Everyone knows that the Graceling bitch doesn’t do anything without his approval.”

Arya’s face remained unmoving and she allowed the men to continue speaking.

The ringleader smiled, taking a step forward. “I don’t think you’re allowed out this late, Lady Arya. Here you are, drinking in an inn without a chaperone. I’m sure the king would love to hear about this. We’ll just have to take you back to the castle.”

“You can try,” smiled Arya.

When quickly reached at the table to grab his sword, she pulled out a hidden dagger and stabbed him in the hand, sticking the knife into the wood. He screamed in pain as his hand was stuck. The other three men drew their weapons, Arya tsking.

“What are they teaching gold cloaks these days?” she asked, shaking her head. “You should know better than anyone that a long sword is a bad option in close quarters.”

“When I remove my knife, your friend starts bleeding,” she said, turning to the three other men. “There are so many veins in the hand. Place your gold on the table.”

She twisted the knife, hearing the man scream in pain. His friends hesitantly tossed a bag of gold onto the table.

“He’ll live if you get him help straight away,” she continued. In one fluid motion, she pulled out the knife and took a step back. “The decision is yours.”

The men glanced at each other before deciding that it wasn’t worth it, collecting their friend and leaving the inn. When people finally began to speak again, the inn keep and servers came downstairs. The serving girl rushed to Arya.

“Are you hurt, m’lady?” she asked in a concerned tone.

“I’m fine,” said Arya. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that. Do they come here often?”

“Yes, m’lady. This inn is quite close to their barracks,” she said.

“I’ll have a word with the Lord Hand,” answered Arya. “They won’t be bothering you any longer. If there’s any more trouble, send word to Arya Stark at the Red Keep.”

The girl squeezed Arya’s hand. “Thank you,” she said in a hushed tone. “I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here.”

Arya was touched by the gesture, her eyes filling with tears. Most people were too afraid to touch her. “Goodnight,” she said, raising the hood to her cloak and leaving the inn. She would have a word with Lord Tywin that morning and would make sure that he kept the gold cloaks in line. The small folk had enough to worry about; they didn’t need to fear getting robbed, beaten, and raped by the people who were supposed to protect them.

She wondered if Aegon would be proud of her actions. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn't have much going on because it sets up for later ones. Next one should be up in a few days.


	9. Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya is sent to the Vale to kill a Graceling clanswoman and meets her aunt and cousin. Arya and Aegon begin a regular correspondence.

“Are you sure this is the right way, Lady Arya?” nervously asked Podrick Payne, his horse bucking beneath him.

Arya sighed, slowing her pace.

“Well, we’re not going the wrong way. We take the high road through the Mountains of the Moon until we reach the Vale.” She glanced at the grip he had on his reigns, sighing again. “Don’t pull so hard. You have a mare, she’ll respond to gentle commands.”

Podrick nodded, relaxing the grip on his reigns. He was a kind boy, but he wasn’t the best traveling companion. It seemed that this was his first time on the road.

Lysa Arryn had been sending ravens for months asking for help to stop the mountain men who had been attacking travelers along the high road. The Vale had plenty of knights that could deal with this issue but Lysa claimed that that one specific mountain man of the Black Ears was a Graceling.

If it was a closer distance, Robert would have sent her alone. But Tywin insisted it wasn’t proper for a noblewoman, Graced or not, to travel alone that far. Arya thought it was ridiculous; she was sixteen years old now. She could handle traveling alone. With Prince Joffrey and Margaery Tyrell’s wedding scheduled in one week, there were not many men to spare. Her usually traveling companion, the Hound, was working overtime to protect the prince with so many people flooding the Red Keep. It seemed that most men had a job to do and truthfully, Arya wouldn’t mind being sent alone. But now she was stuck with the inexperienced Podrick.

A few moments later, she heard Podrick gasp as his horse bucked again. Arya quickly rode over, soothing his mare.

“Gods, where did you learn to ride?” she asked, gently petting the horse’s mane.

Podrick blushed, looking down at his feet. “No one ever really taught me, Lady Arya.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what, my lady?”

“Stop calling me Lady Arya,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m a Graceling, I don’t need that title.”

“You may be a Graceling but you’re still a highborn lady,” said Podrick. “You deserve that respect.”

Arya smiled at Podrick. “That’s the first time I’ve heard someone say that I deserve respect. That’s very kind of you, Podrick.”

As Podrick began to answer, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She barley listened to him drone on. She felt extremely uneasy, like they were being watched. She pulled at the reigns of her horse, stopping.

“Wait a moment,” she said.

She turned her head, looking into the mountains, when she realized that something was very wrong. She dove, tackling Podrick off his horse as arrows whizzed over their heads. She quickly reached onto her horse’s pack, grabbing a wooden shield. With Podrick still on the ground, she blocked a flurry of arrows, looking down to see a dozen arrows embedded in her shield. She watched and twelve warriors dressed in furs and equipped with rusted spears and axes ran out from their hiding places in the rocks.

They sprinted at the two with a loud battle cry, Arya noticing the large woman leading the way. She noticed that she had something strung around her neck, realizing it was a necklace made of human ears. The clansmen rushed at the two, Arya sidestepping the first axe swung at her, unsheathing _Dark Sister_ and stabbing the man through the back. She cut through the next three who attacked, shouting at Podrick to get up and fight. He looked terrified, Arya realizing that it was his first battle.

She began to parry with a man, before she heard a commotion behind her. She turned to see that Podrick stabbed a mountain man through the back before he could sneak up on her. She bashed another with her shield before he could even raise his sword. She killed two more men before the woman leading the clan shouted, “Hold! I’ll face her myself.”

Arya spun her blood covered blade in her hand, raising her eyebrows when she noticed that the woman had one green eye, one brown eye.

“You must be the Graceling giving the Vale so much trouble lately,” said Arya. “Chella of the Black Ears. You saved me the trouble of hunting you down. Lysa Arryn wants your necklace.”

“You can tell the Lady of the Mountain that I strung four more ears onto my necklace,” growled Chella. “After I finish with you.”

“You mean you won’t kill me?”

The woman let out a deep chuckle. “Only cowards kill the vanquished. Braver to leave the man alive, with a chance to cleanse his shame by winning back his ear. Only then can you prove you do not fear your enemies.”

“Very poetic,” said Arya. “We’ll do this the old way, then. Me and you. You win, you can take both our ears. I win, the Black Ears stop raiding the high road.” 

“Deal!” shouted Chella.

Instead of attacking Arya with the two axes she held in her hand, she took a deep breath and let out a terrible shriek. Arya felt her ears burst inside her head and screamed in pain, falling to her knees. She clamped her hands over her ears as the woman continued to howl, slowly approaching. She felt every muscle tense as pressure pounded at her head. This woman had a very unusual Grace that allowed her to scream at inhuman pitches. Chella took a deep breath and let out another scream, Arya falling to the ground and writhing in pain. She gritted her teething squeezed her eyes shut, barely able to think.

She kept telling herself to stand and fight but was too stunned to move. Chella continued to scream, approaching Arya with her axes. Once she was in range, she paused her screaming to swing her axe downwards. The screaming stopped long enough for Arya to raise her sword. She stumbled to her feet, wincing as the axe cut into her arm; the wound was shallow, but quite painful. She weakly blocked Chella’s blows, extremely off balance. Chella managed to land more serious cuts and Arya began to bleed profusely.

Every time the Graced woman screamed, Arya was too stunned to move. Arya knew she had to stop her from screaming again. As she opened her mouth again, Arya punched her in the throat. Chella stumbled backwards, clutching her neck. Arya dove forward, wrapping her hands around Chella’s neck. She managed to knock her to the ground, squeezing as hard as she could. Chella clawed at her arm, her face turning purple. Arya’s hands ached but she continued to squeeze until the clanswoman grew limp.

She scrambled backwards, breathing heavily. This had been the toughest fight of her life. The clansmen glared but dispersed, leaving the body with her and Podrick. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the rocks for a moment, exhausted.

“Take the necklace of ears,” said Arya, slowly standing. “And get the bandages out of my bag.”

Podrick nodded, seemingly terrified of her fighting skills. He seemed to be walking off balance too, probably because he was in range of Chella’s screams. He came back a moment later, handing her the bandages. Her ears were intensely ringing as she wrapped some of the worse cuts, hoping to stop the bleeding. She would have to wash them out when they reached the Vale.

She tried to stand and nearly fell because her ears were so damaged. Podrick took her arm, moving his lips without speaking.

“Stop mouthing words and say something!” she snapped, sticking a finger into her ears. Her ears were bleeding too and Arya realized that Podrick wasn’t mouthing words; she just couldn’t hear.

 _This better be temporary_ , she thought. _And Lysa Arryn better drop to her knees and thank me._

Arya looked around on the high road, sighing when she realized that their horses had fled. With her arm around Podrick’s shoulders, they began to long trek to the Bloody Gate.

* * *

The journey to the Eyrie was tougher than she ever imagined. After they passed the Bloody Gate, they took new horses to the Gates of the Moon at the base of the Giant’s Lance, the mountain that held the Eyrie. They took sure-footed donkeys past the three castles (Stone, Snow, and Sky). After passing the last waypoint, they traveled on foot, relying on an experienced guide to show them the way. She understood why the Arryns never left their castle. The Eyrie itself was impressive; white pale stone carved into the mountainwith thin towers reaching into the blue sky. When they finally arrived, she was exhausted, aching, and freezing, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a featherbed to pass out. At least her hearing and balance were a bit better.

It seemed that Lysa Arryn had other ideas. A steward met her and Podrick at the Eyrie’s entrance, escorting them to the High Hall where a throne made of weirwood branches sat high above. As she and Podrick approached, she saw a woman with auburn hair and blue eyes like her mother sitting on the throne with a young, sickly-looking brunette boy on her lap. This must be her Aunt Lysa and cousin Robin Arryn. Though Lysa had the Tully features, she was nowhere near as beautiful as her mother was. Her face was gaunt and pale, her mouth set in a thin frown.

They seemed to glare as the two approached, though more at Podrick than at Arya. She pulled the necklace of ears off of her belt, dropping it at the foot of the throne.

“Lady Lysa,” said Arya with a slight nod. “I am Arya Stark and this is my companion, Podrick Payne. The Lord Hand sent me to help you. The Black Ears’s Graceling has been dealt with.”

“I know who you are,” said Lysa in a displeased tone. “You look like your father.”

“I thought we were going to see the Graceling fly!” shouted her cousin. He angrily pointed at Arya. “You weren’t supposed to kill her.”

Arya tried to keep her anger in check. There was obviously something wrong with the boy; he was thirteen years old and throwing a tantrum like a toddler. “I would have captured her if I could,” said Arya. “I was injured from the fight. Lady Lysa, if you could have a servant escort us to our chambers. I am quite exhausted from the journey. We will leave tomorrow morning.”

Lysa suddenly smiled, her sour demeanor from before gone. She and Robert stood from the throne, walking down the large set of stairs hand in hand. “Please, call me Aunt Lysa. Robin and I will dine with you tonight. Your companion will eat in his chambers.” She gestured towards a servant. “I have a gown waiting.”

Moments later, servants whisked her away to bathe and have her bandages changed. They stuffed her into a ill-fitting sea-green gown, braiding her hair down her back. Arya’s wounds still ached and she just wanted to be left alone to get some rest but felt uncomfortable refusing a family member’s offer. Her parents always taught her to accept an adult’s offer. Servants escorted her to another room in the castle where her aunt and cousin waited.

Lysa approached with a smile, reaching out and taking Arya’s hands. Arya immediately was on guard, as her aunt had started as extremely unfriendly when they first arrived. “I am so happy to meet you,” said Lysa. “I have to admit, I was a bit surprised to learn that you were sent by King Robert. I expected him to send another Graceling.”

Arya gently managed to pull her hands from Lysa’s cold grip, uncomfortably smiling. “Most of those in the Red Keep are quite busy with preparations for Prince Joffrey’s wedding,” said Arya.

“And you’re not welcome?” asked Lysa.

Arya hesitated before answering, “The queen did not want me to attend.”

They took their places at the table, Arya wanting this to be over as soon as possible. Platters of food suddenly appeared in front of them and Arya began to tear into a honey-glazed drumstick when Lysa cleared her throat. She glanced upwards to see that she had her hands folded as if she was about to pray. Arya swallowed, shooting her a sheepish smile.

“Sorry. I usually dine alone in King’s Landing.” She folded her hands and closed her eyes as Lysa began to speak.

“We thank the father for providing this bountiful food, the mother for nurturing the crops…”

Arya cracked one eye open as Lysa droned on, wondering when her aunt became so religious. Though she was raised with a faith in the old gods and new, she didn’t buy into this crap. She hadn’t eaten since the day before and was absolutely starving. Her annoyance grew as her aunt continued to pray, wondering if she would notice if she began to eat.

“Bless us all,” finally ended Lysa.

Arya took that as a cue to shove food into her mouth. Lysa smiled and watched her, barely eating anything herself. Arya thought it was strange but continued to eat.

“I take it that you haven’t had a good meal in a while,” said Lysa as Arya piled rice onto her plate.

Arya winced, thinking back to the various inns and campsites they stopped at along the way. The food at the inns wasn’t terrible but she quickly learned that Podrick had never left the castle before. He couldn’t make a fire, hunt, or cook food. The first night, she left him at the campsite to watch the rabbits on the fire as she went to gather firewood and when she came back, he was frantically trying to stop them from burning. After that, she let him gather firewood.

“Rabbit can get quite old after a while,” said Arya. She stabbed her fork into a piece of pear. “Where do you get all of the fruit? I can’t imagine that this soil can support anything.”

“It all comes from the crates. Any sort of fresh produce is shipped from the valley to these mountains,” said Lysa. “And we are quite glad for that. Robin loves his fresh fruits.”

Arya nodded, trying to stay engaged in the conversation. Her wounds were aching and she began to scratch at the bandages, hoping to feel some relief.

“Are you in pain, sweetling?”

It was not her aunt’s voice that Arya heard. She was overcome with emotion as she heard her mother’s voice. How many times had she heard her mother say the same thing throughout her childhood? She bit her lip, reminding herself that her mother was in Winterfell, along with her father, three brothers, and nephew and niece who she had never met.

“I’m fine,” she said, finishing her last bit of dinner. “It was a difficult fight. The most challenging I’ve had in a long time. The Black Ears woman had a very strange Grace.” 

“I can’t believe that the king sent you here all on your own,” said Lysa, pursing her lips. “Even if Robin was a Graceling, I wouldn’t allow him to go off on his own like that.”

Arya shrugged. “I’ve been doing it for a long time. I’ve gotten quite used to it. ”

A servant cleared their plates and placed down desserts. Her aunt smiled as she saw Arya staring at the plate.

“Go ahead,” Lysa smiled. “Take one.”

Arya smiled and picked a honey cake, taking a large bite.

“Your mother had quite the sweet tooth, you know,” said Lysa.

“Really?”

“Oh yes,” said Lysa, scooting her chair closer. “At suppertime she would go straight for lemon cakes, candied almonds, custard…anything sweet. Eventually your grandfather had to assign a septa to watch her at meals. Cat was the firstborn daughter after all. It was important that she remain desirable so father could arrange a good match. She was starting to get fat.

“My mother, fat?” laughed Arya. She looked down at her cake. “She never let me have my dessert until I finished all my proper food. But that was nine years ago. Now, I usually take my meals alone in my room.”

“This is before she married your father and moved to the north,” explained Lysa. “By the time you were born your father’s austerity had become hers. Marriage changes people.”

Arya nodded in agreement. “Sansa isn’t even married yet but ever since she became betrothed to Willas, she started wearing roses on everything.”

“Your sister has been betrothed for quite a long time, hasn’t she?”

“For over two years,” confirmed Arya.

“Your father will start looking for a match for you soon,” said Lysa. “You're sixteen now, are you not?”

Arya’s cheeks turned red. "I don’t think I’ll ever get married. I never want to get married. And the crown would never allow it. King Robert wouldn’t be able to send me to do his dirty work.”

“Never say never,” said Lysa, scooting a bit closer. “Cat said the same thing growing up. Petyr always used to ask her to marry him, but she always said that she never wanted to get married. That was until she met Brandon.”

A dark look grew on Lysa’s face and Arya uncomfortably glanced towards the door.

“I have a proposition for you,” eagerly said Lysa. “How would you like to never work for the king again?”

“But…how…of course!” she sputtered out, getting extremely excited. “I don’t understand. How is that possible?”

“There are three laws that outweigh the Graceling laws,” said Lysa. “The laws of the seven. If you wanted to join the silent sisters or become a septa, the king couldn’t command you to do anything. Or, becoming a maester, which you cannot do.” Lysa saw the look on Arya’s face and held up her hand. “I am not suggesting either of those.”

“The other law is marriage.”

“I don’t want to get married,” sulked Arya.

“Listen, child,” said Lysa, taking her hand. “Wouldn’t marriage be better than serving a cruel, incompetent king? You said it yourself: Robert has made you into some sort of a monster. I can arrange for a marriage that would take you away from King’s Landing.”

“I don’t want to get married,” firmly repeated Arya.

“You could wear breeches,” said Lysa. “You’d be the head of the household in your own castle. Your husband would be wealthy, powerful, brave, and kind.”

“Do you have someone in mind?”

Lysa smiled, taking Arya’s hand. “As a matter of fact, I do. I have started looking for a match for Robert.”

 _Oh, gods no,_ thought Arya. _This is my worst nightmare._

“I don’t think…” began Arya.

“Robert is a good boy,” said Lysa. “Handsome, smart…you two would make a good match. You wouldn’t have to think of children for a long time. You can protect him from those who would hurt him.”

“Why would someone want to hurt him?” asked Arya.

“The Lannisters killed his father,” said Lysa, gripping her hand almost painfully tight. “They would have killed us too, if we hadn’t escaped.”

“That’s...that’s absurd,” said Arya. “The Lannisters are power-hungry, but they aren’t that bold.”

“Like mother, like daughter,” sneered Lysa. “I wrote to Cat and she did nothing about it. You can protect us. No one would ever cross you. We're family, and family has to stick together.”

Arya tried to pull her hand from Lysa’s grip, but she held too tightly.

“Please,” desperately said Lysa. “They’ll come to kill us. I know they will. You wouldn’t abandon your family, would you? Please!”

Arya finally managed to rip her hand out of Lysa’s, her chest heaving. “I…I think I should go.”

“Arya—“

“We’re leaving,” quickly said Arya. “I will not marry Robert.” As she ran, she heard Lysa screaming behind her.

“You’ll regret this!” screeched Lysa. “You’re the second daughter like me. Cat got the noble and handsome Eddard while I was stuck with old Jon Arryn. You’ll end up like me some day!”

* * *

She trudged up the steps to her room, exhausted from the long nights she and Podrick spent riding. It took them a week and a half to get back to King’s Landing after their abrupt departure. After Lysa ambushed Arya with the marriage proposal, she changed, grabbed her supplies, found Podrick, and got the hell out of the Vale. Podrick asked what had happened but Arya only muttered, “marriage”.

Thankfully, he hadn’t pressed anymore. They finally arrived in the castle in the middle of the night, Arya deciding that she would debrief Tywin in the morning. When she finally arrived at her room, she peeled off her soiled clothes and threw on a large tunic. Right as she was about to flop onto her bed, she noticed a letter sitting on her desk.

 _Strange_ , she thought, walking over. _I don’t usually get letters._ It was sealed with wax black and had no sigil.

Arya sat at her desk, using a knife to break the seal. When she opened the letter, a dried flower fell out.

> _Dear Arya,_
> 
> _It’s been so long since we last saw each other. We said the Shy Maid from Braavos to Pentos to Tyrosh, across the Stepstones, finally landing at Sunspear. I finally met my uncles and cousins. My uncle has eight daughters, each tougher than the last. They take no dispersant from anyone and will do anything to protect the ones who they love. They all remind me of you._
> 
> _I know that if I gave you the flower in person, you’d punch me in the arm and call me a fool. The flower is called a Mariposa Lily, named after the butterflies native to the region. When Nymeria of Rhoyne invaded the region, she made her handmaidens scour the region for the flowers to decorate her room. By the time this letter reaches you, it will be dried, but when I picked it, it was a brilliant red. A dornish man told me, “It is the most beautiful of the desert wildflowers.”_
> 
> _I dream of the day that we see each other again. (To spar, of course. Get your head out of the gutter, Stark). I know that you’d love Dorne. The mountains melt into the sea, and the sunrises themselves get me up before dawn each meeting. I spend all my free time (well, when my father isn’t harassing me to attend council sessions) exploring the desert. They tell me we will move to the Water Gardens when the weather grows hot enough._
> 
> _I have to go before my father has my head. I have another lesson with Haldon. To write back, bring your letter to the smuggler._
> 
> _-Your idiot Egg_

By the time Arya finished the letter, she realized that marriage wouldn’t be that bad after all.

* * *

It seemed that every time she returned from brutalizing someone, a letter from Aegon waited for her.

After returning from the Iron Islands to kill a rouge Ironborn, a letter with a new flower sat on her desk. This one, a Moonlit Swan, was translucent white and only bloomed at night.

After dumping three fingers of a traitorous lord in the Reach on Tywin’s desk, she returned to her room to find another letter with a new flower called a Weeping Wallop, a cream colored flower with white stripes that only grew in the shade.

After breaking the arms of every thief in a port village in the Stormlands, a letter with a flower, a Colter’s Lupine (bright pink and supposedly toxic) waited for her.

Arya almost suspected that Varys held the letters until she returned. She received letters every month, writing one back as soon as she read them. In them, Aegon described Dorne in as much detail as he could (leaving out important details like names and politics, of course). If someone were to read the letters—which they never would…Arya had them hidden behind a loose brick on her wall and no one was foolish enough to snoop through her room—they would suspect that she just had a suitor.

A lot of time had past since she had left Braavos; two years, in fact. Sansa's wedding had been delayed numerous times because her father had been dealing with some sort of revolt in the north. 

A year and a half and nearly twenty letters later, she rode to Griffin’s Roost with the Hound to kill a thief with a Grace. The Conningtons used to be a wealthy, noble house but were stripped of their lands and titles after Robert’s Rebellion. Now they were only a house of knights.

 _This was Aegon’s adopted father’s house_ , thought Arya as she urged her horse towards the beautiful castle that sat on the jutted cliffs. _I don’t know why Connington hates me. Perhaps it is because I resemble Lyanna. I wonder what flower Aegon's new letter will have._

“Why are you grinning like an idiot?” asked the Hound, towering over her atop his gigantic black horse.

Arya wondered when she became that foolish. _All it took was a few letters and dried flowers to make me think like an airhead._

“I’m not, stupid,” snapped Arya. “Why do you even come? I have to do everything. Snap someone’s leg, ask Arya. Take someone’s fingers, Arya would be happy to do it! Someone needs to die—”

“Oh, stop your whining,” roughly said the Hound. “I don’t have any choice in the matter. There are much worse men in the world than me.”

“No one is worse than you,” spit out Arya.

“What about my brother?” asked the Hound.

Arya had no response, instead kicking her horse into a gallop to leave the Hound behind. She rode through the castle’s gates, leaving her horse with a stableboy. She didn’t bother waiting for Clegane, instead asking where to find Ser Ronnet. A stable hand directed her towards the great hall.

The castle was beautiful, decorated with complex tapestries. Its arched windows had a beautiful diamond design with red and white panes of glass. When she finally arrived at the throne room, she was impressed with the carved and gilded Griffin Seat. Ser Ronnet Connington sat on the throne, his red hair brighter than anything she had seen.

She approached the throne, introducing her self. “Lord Connington,” she said. “I am Arya Stark. King Robert—“

“I am no lord,” said Ronnet. “King Robert stripped my family of our lordship. My title is Ser.”

Arya resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Ser Connington,” she began again. “King Robert sent me to find the Graceling thief.”

“We caught the thief yesterday,” simply said said Ronnet. “Your services are not needed.”

“You do realize that it took me four days to ride out here?” icily asked Arya. “It will take another four days to ride back.”

“I have arranged rooms for the night and can offer you passage on a ship that leaves tomorrow at midday. Your horses can be stored on deck. A servant will escort you,” said Ronnet.

“How considerate. Well, thank you for this wonderful waste of time, _Ser_ Connington,” she sneered.

She turned on her heels and exited the throne room, nearly banging into the Hound along the way. “They killed the thief yesterday,” she grumbled. “Now you can spend your night at the whorehouse. We meet at the docks midday.”

“Thank the fucking gods,” gruffly said Clegane.

A timid servant waited for Arya to follow to show her to the chambers prepared. The small girl lead her through the castle’s halls, finally arriving at a door. “A meal will be served shortly,” said the girl. “A bath is waiting. Do you require anything else?”

“No, thank you,” said Arya, shutting the door in the girl’s face. It would be nice just once to not have someone’s eyes nervously flicker between her mismatched ones when they spoke. She eagerly stripped off her dirtied clothes and bathed, changing into a clean pair of breeches and a tunic from her bag, flopping on the bed and waiting for the servant to arrive with her meal. Some time passed until she grew quite irritable, finally stomping towards the door intent on asking where her food was when it suddenly flew open, smacking into her nose.

“Seven fucking hells!” she nasally exclaimed, her hands rushing to her face.

“Gods, Arya, I’m so sorry!” a slightly familiar voice anxiously said. Two calloused hands gently pulled at her own. “Let me see.”

She was about to punch this man in the face for daring to touch her when she gazed into a pair of mismatched eyes.

One blue, one purple.

“Aegon?” she gasped, pulling her hands away.

He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “I had this whole plan where I was going to spread flowers all across your room but I got too excited,” he said. “Are you alright?’’

Arya didn’t respond, instead flinging herself at him, wrapping her arms around her neck. She buried her face into his chest. After a few moments, she explained, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” softly said Aegon, placing her on her feet once again.

In the two years since they had last seen each other, Aegon had grown. His blue hair reached his shoulders, half tied back. She noticed a hint of pale stubble across his sharp jaw. He grew much taller, towering over her. His muscles grew to match his height and he was quite tanned from his time in Dorne. The biggest difference she noticed though, was how he held himself. Gone was the awkward stance of a lanky teenage boy. He held himself with confidence, even looking quite kingly.

“You know, you can compliment me aloud,” teased Aegon, hearing her thoughts. 

“Shut up, stupid,” said Arya, punching him in the arm. “What the hell is going on? Why are you here?”

Aegon shot her a dazzling smile, reaching behind his back to hand her a bouquet of flowers. They were a mix of purple, red, yellow, and blue, tied together with a white ribbon.

“I wanted to give you these flowers in person.”

Arya took the flowers, her heart melting. “I…I don’t know what to say…this is the nicest thing someone has ever done for me.”

Aegon smiled. “Perhaps we should eat. I sense that if you don’t get some food, you’ll return the door favor.” Arya nodded in agreement as he wheeled in a cart full of food. They sat at the table in her chambers, Arya eagerly tearing into a piece of steak.

“You must be surprised to see me,” said Aegon, taking some food for himself.

“You think?” snorted Arya. “I was expecting to kill a man today, not see someone I care about.”

“Well, I have been pestering Jon about meeting some of the loyalist lords left in Westeros. If I am to invade one day, I will need loyal households. He has always insisted that it is too dangerous, but Doran managed to convince him that it is a good idea. His second cousin Ronnel is the lord of Griffin’s Roost and Varys knew he is loyal to the Targaryens. Robert Baratheon took the Connington’s lordship. Varys thought this would be a good place to start because Jon will be my hand one day, meaning that he will not try to take Griffin’s Roost and that I will give the Conningtons their lordship again. I arrived about a week ago, traveling only with Duck and a handful of guards. I asked Varys for a favor if he could somehow get you here. He made up the thief excuse for the usurper and well…that’s it.”

A grin broke out on Arya’s face. “Very smart, Aegon Targaryen,” she said. “Dorne sounds amazing. I wish I could see it. Tywin says that they refuse any castle help so there's never been a need for me to travel there."

“Well, my mother’s side of the family doesn’t have the best rapport with the crown,” said Aegon. “I know I’ve described the Water Gardens in my letters, but my writing doesn’t do it justice. It’s the most amazing place, Arya. Gardens sprawl for miles, and the food is more delicious than you can believe.”

Aegon poured them both glasses of wine. “Dornish red,” he said. “My uncle Doran brews it. You can taste a bit of dragon pepper.”

Arya hesitantly took a sip of wine, smiling. “It’s fantastic. What else did you get me?” she asked in a teasing tone.

“Well,” began Aegon, handing her two packages.

“You didn’t have to do that,” said Arya.

“I know I didn’t have to,” said Aegon. “I wanted to.”

Arya smiled and quickly tore the paper. The first gift was a brown leather Dornish whip. “My cousin Nymeria uses one. She’ll show you how to use it if you come to Dorne."

He handed her a small box next. Inside sat a silver ring designed as a dragon wrapped around a finger; small rubies were placed into the eyes. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly. “Where did you get it?”

“Uncle Oberyn gave it to me,” said Aegon, his face suddenly saddening. “My father had given it to my mother before…” He suddenly trailed off. “I wanted you to have it.”

“Aegon…” she began. “It’s beautiful but…I don’t want to get married. I don’t think I’ll ever get married.”

“I know,” said Aegon. “I won’t get married either then.”

Arya slipped the ring onto her finger, placing a kiss on Aegon’s cheek. His face turned bright red.

“I love it,” she said. “I’ll have to put it on a necklace and hide it under my shirt. Wearing a dragon ring would raise too many questions.”

They finished two flagons of wine all on their own, laughing and reminiscing about their time in Braavos. Arya told Aegon about a few of the better things that happened in King’s Landing. She also told him about the worse things, like visiting Lysa. She even suggested sparring, as she hadn’t had much of a match since she left Braavos. Hours passed and they were both quite drunk.

Arya slowly reached out and brushed a loose strand of blue hair from his face. She gently ran her knuckles along his cheek. Aegon grabbed her hand before it could go any further, blue and purple eyes meeting silver and gold.

He sighed, interlacing his fingers with hers. “We shouldn’t,” he said quietly. “We’re drunk and if we do this…I won’t be able to stop.”

Arya only leaned forward and said, “We’re not in King’s Landing.”

A moment later, she pressed her lips against his. Their kiss started out soft and gentle until Arya began to run her fingers through his blue hair. She climbed on top of him, running her fingers down his chest. They kissed for a long time until she guided his hands to pull off her shirt.

Aegon broke the kiss for a moment, his hands on her waist, both of them breathing heavily. “Are you sure?” he asked. “You’re a maiden and…”

Arya only whispered, “Yes.” She kissed him again, reaching for the laces of his breeches.

* * *

Arya angrily stomped onto the boat, pulling her hood low over her heed. The sunlight made the pounding headache she had a thousand times worst and she was upset to be leaving Aegon.

“Drink too much last night?” asked the Hound from behind her as she roughly rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand.

“I don’t drink,” she snapped.

“Liar. You’re hungover,” laughed the Hound. “Didn’t know that the wolf bitch drank.”

“Shut up!” she growled, stomping to the other end of the boat. Thankfully, the boat ride was only two days and she would get her own cabin. As the crew worked on getting the ship out of the bay, she sadly stared at the castle, wondering when she would see Aegon again.

She felt a bit nauseous, maybe from the drinking, or from the moon tea Aegon had waiting in the morning, or maybe from the thought of returning to King's Landing after a night so wonderful. Though she was sore from the night before, it was one of the best of her life. She smiled at the memory of the morning.

_Her eyes fluttered open, sunlight streaming through the windows. She didn’t know where she was for a moment until she saw a tanned arm draped over her waist. Aegon stirred when he felt her shifting and smiled. “Good morning,” he said._

_“Morning,” Arya said softly, sitting up. She kept the sheets wrapped around her. She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I have to go soon. The ship leaves before midday.”_

_Arya climbed out of bed, quickly dressing. Her clothes were thrown all around the room. Aegon did the same. She slowly turned in circles, looking for a missing boot. Aegon tossed it to her a moment later. She bucked her sword belt, Needle and Dark Sister hanging from the leather._

_“About last night…” started Aegon. He uncomfortably rubbed the back of his head._

_“Stop,” said Arya. “I don’t regret it.” She smiled, walking over to him and grasping his hand. “And if anyone finds out, I don’t care about the consequences.”_

_“Ok then,” said Aegon with a smile. He gently stroked her knuckles with his thumb. “When will I see you again?”_

_“I don’t know,” sighed Arya. “If we keep meeting up like this, we’ll risk someone finding out. But I hope quite soon.”_

_“I’ll keep writing,” solemnly promised Aegon._

_“And so will I,” softly said Arya. She raised herself on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his own. They broke apart, Aegon cupping her face._

_“I love you, Arya Stark,” said Aegon._

_“I love you too.”_

A horn sounded as the ship pulled away, snapping her out of her thoughts. _This is what love feels like_ , she thought. _I never thought I would feel this way about a man, or that someone could feel this way about me._

Arya reached down into her shirt to grab ahold of the ring that Aegon had given her. She stared out into the water, wondering what flower he would send her next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: the Starks arrive in King's Landing.


	10. The Starks Part 1: Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks arrive in King's Landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the best! Thank you so much for your comments.

Bran POV

Bran smiled as he watched his nephew Benjen pull at Summer’s tail. Thank the gods Summer was quite docile and would put up with the five-year-old’s abuses. Benjen climbed on his back and pulled at his ears, attempting to wrestle the wolf. The direwolf simply looked at Bran and stared, almost as if he was blaming him for the situation he was in.

The boy had inherited Talisa’s black hair and Robb’s bright blue eyes. He would be the Lord of Winterfell one day. He laughed as he sat on top of Summer until Robb picked him up and placed him at the large table next to his mother.

This was the last breakfast before the majority of the family left to go to King’s Landing. Bran looked around the table. To his right sat Rickon who was currently piling his plate with plate high with bacon and sausages. His auburn hair was tangled and grew past his shoulders, his clothes were torn and dirtied; Catelyn had long given up trying to clean him up. He was ten and two now and was the wildest Stark.

Robb sat besides Rickon. He was the handsomest man in the North with curly auburn hair and bright blue eyes. He was a fearsome warrior, taking the lead in the Battle of Last Hearth after Ned Stark was injured. Wildlings managed to breach part of the Wall but were stopped by Northern forces at Last Hearth. Benjen sat in between Robb and Talisa, the little boy fidgeting with excitement. He placed a kiss Talisa’s cheek.

Robb’s wife was beautiful with long black hair and hazel eyes. Talisa was originally from Volantis and moved to Westeros after being trained in the medical arts. She met Robb after he was injured in a hunting accident and the two fell in love. Bran knew that their marriage was rushed because Robb had bedded her before he wed her. Mother had immediately taken a liking to Talisa, probably because her two daughters were gone. She was holding Robb’s one year old daughter, Lyarra. The babe's auburn hair was pulled into pig tails and she giggled, smearing jam with her hand.

Catelyn sat next to Talisa, speaking to Septa Mordane about what the dresses she had made for Arya. Her auburn hair had greyed and she had more lines in her face but she was still quite beautiful.

At the head of the table sat Ned, looking as serious as ever. His hair had greyed and his face aged. He walked with a slight limp ever since he was injured during a fight with wildlings.

“Why do I have to go?” complained Rickon, grabbing a griddle cake with his hand and shoving it into his mouth. “I want to stay here with Bran.”

“Sansa won’t see us for a long time after this, Rickon,” patiently said Bran. “And I’ve already seen King’s Landing. Besides…you’re too wild to stay here alone.”

Bran didn’t have to elaborate because his family knew that he was referring to his Grace. Years before he had confided in Arya that he didn’t think his Grace was warging; he thought it had to do with seeing in the future. In truth, his Grace was something called Greenseeing. When Jojen Reed visited Winterfell, he explained that he had the same one. Bran had the ability to see in the past and the future. A week before the wildlings breached the Wall, Bran dreamt of it and told his father to prepare troops. It was a secret that only the Starks knew. If the king found out, he would be called to the capital to serve, just like Arya was years before.

Arya…Bran dreamed of his sister last night. He presumed it was something in her past, as she and Sansa had been much younger. Arya pulled Sansa out of a riot in King’s Landing, saving her from a group of men. She escorted Sansa back to the castle and then stepped back into the riot, determined to hunt down one of the men who tried to kill her sister. Bran had never seen so much blood on one person. Arya moved with a deadly gracefulness, cutting through her enemies, almost like she was dancing. Bran woke up extremely worried, as they hadn’t heard from Arya in years.

Sansa mentioned nothing of a riot in her letters and Bran wondered if they were hiding something. Watching Arya’s killing Grace in action was shocking. Bran couldn’t get the image of her killing a man on his knees out of his head, even when he begged for mercy. He mentioned nothing of this to his family as they didn’t need anything else to worry about.

“We can’t even bring our direwolves!” exclaimed Rickon.

Just before Sansa traveled south, they were informed that direwolves were not welcomed inside of King’s Landing’s gates. It had something to do with an incident with Nymeria years before. Lady hadn’t been the same without Sansa. She spent most of her time sleeping, looking quite depressed. She had taken a liking to Lyarra and spent most of her time with the little girl.

“We’ll be seeing _both_ your sisters,” said his mother. “Arya has been away for even longer than Sansa.”

“She doesn’t want to see us. She hasn’t written in years,” pointed out Rickon, rolling his eyes.

Catelyn looked quite dejected once Rickon said that, as she felt guilty for allowing the king to take Arya South in the first place.

“Apologize to your mother,” firmly said Ned.

Rickon finally realized how upset he made her. “Sorry, mother,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m sure Arya will be happy to see you,” said Talisa. She was quite good at diffusing tense situations. “I would love to see my family again.”

“Who’s Arya?” piped up Benjen. A silence spread over the table, as they tried to avoid talking about Arya. It was painful to think about.

“Arya is your aunt,” kindly said Robb. “She traveled south a long time ago and we haven’t seen her since. You’ll meet her in King’s Landing.”

“Why’d she go south?” asked the young boy. Robb looked uncomfortable, not sure how to explain it.

“Aunt Arya is a Graceling, just like me,” said Bran. “The king thought her Grace was very useful, so she serves the crown. She protects the realm from dangers.”

In truth, Bran wasn’t sure if Arya protected the realm or threatened it. They often heard rumors of what she was capable of…what she did to the king’s enemies. Bran knew his parents felt extremely guilty for allowing King Robert to take her even though the only way to stop him would be to start a rebellion.

They meant to visit her but the past eight years had been hectic. After Bran's accident, Catelyn refused to leave the castle for over a year. Then it was winter, and last, wildings breached the wall and Ned was forced to call his bannermen to defend the north. Ned actually sent Sansa to King’s Landing for Arya, not for the southern court.

Talisa managed to redirect the conversation away from Arya, instead asking Catelyn what gift they planned to give to Sansa for her wedding. The conversation flowed easier after that and breakfast finished. Bran began to wheel himself out of the room when his father called out, “Bran. A moment?”

The rest of the family left the room, leaving only Bran, Summer, and his father.

“Of course,” said Bran.

“You didn’t look well when we mentioned Arya,” his father said. “What did you see?”

Bran looked down at his boots, telling himself that he needed to work on his lying. “I…I dreamed of Arya last night,” he said, closing his eyes. “She’s not the same, father. It seems the rumors about her Grace are true.” He refused to explain any further, giving Arya some privacy.

His father stayed silent for a moment, a guilt flashing into his eyes. He nodded to Bran and said, “Tell me if you see anything else. You know why we have to leave you here.”

Bran nodded. “There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. I’ll be fine, father. It’s better this way.”

“I’m leaving you with three quarters of the household guard,” said his father, continuing before Bran could protest. “But Ramsay Bolton will be accompanying us to King’s Landing. If any trouble should arise with Roose Bolton, send a raven.”

“Of course, father,” said Bran. “And you should go south. Arya misses you.”

* * *

Arya felt sweat trickle down her back as she attacked the straw-stuffed training dummy once again. She was on edge. With preparations being made for her family’s arrival, the training yard was practically deserted. Arya always enjoyed practicing privately, although her training sessions with Aegon used to be a ton of fun.

“I believe your sister is looking for you,” a deep voice called out from behind her.

Arya turned to see Tywin Lannister approaching. He was wearing red silks embroidered with a golden lion, a gold Hand of the King pin sitting on his chest. Arya wondered if he wore it to purposely annoy her father.

Arya sheathed her sword, stretching her arms over her head. “She’s always looking for me,” she said. “What do you need?”

The corner of Tywin’s mouth curled, as he always appreciated Arya’s no-bullshit personality. “You should get ready for your family’s arrival. Their ship is due to arrive quite soon.”

“I know,” said Arya, crossing her arms over her chest. “Everyone loves to remind me.” She turned her head to the side, frowning a bit.

Tywin observed her with his cool green eyes. “I wanted to give you a warning, girl. It may be better to keep the details of what you’ve done in King’s Landing a secret. There’s no point in worrying your family.”

Arya let out a sharp laugh. “And here I thought you came all this way to make sure I got ready in time. Don’t worry, Lord Tywin,” she said in a mocking tone. “I’ll make sure my parents don’t find out that you and King Robert have used me as your personal weapon.”

Tywin narrowed his eyes. “Sullenness isn’t fitting for a daughter of a high lord,” he said.

Arya tightened her hands into fists and spat out, “You shouldn’t lecture me about sullenness. Just look at your daughter.”

He ignored her rude comment and asked, “What will I tell your family?”

Arya shrugged, shooting him a smirk. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

She turned on her heels and headed to find her horse so she could get away from the royal court.

 _I’ve waited eight years for them to visit me_ , she thought. _It’s their turn._

* * *

Sansa POV

Sansa forced herself to keep still. She hadn’t seen her family in almost three years and missed them dearly. She tried to subdue her excitement, as she didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of such elegant company. The entire royal court was present in the Red Keep’s courtyard because her family’s ship had arrived in Blackwater Bay a short time before. Horses were waiting to bring them up.

Willas reached down and squeezed her hand, shooting her a knowing smile. She laced her arm through his own, beaming as she watched her family ride through the courtyard. They dismounted and Sansa felt a sense of deja vu as she saw her family bowing before King Robert. He allowed them to stand and embraced her father. 

Sansa walked forward with as much dignity as she could muster, wanting to rush forward to greet her family. She saw her father’s eyes lighten as he saw her approach, opening his arms for a hug. She rushed into them, pressing her cheek into his leathers.

“Sansa,” he said, releasing her and pressing a kiss on her forehead. “My beautiful girl.”

“Sansa, my sweet!” shouted her mother, wrapping her in another tight hug. She pressed kisses to her forehead, holding her daughter arms length. “King’s Landing has treated you well.” Willas greeted her mother and father as Sansa moved onto Robb’s family.

Robb lifted her into a hug, swinging her around. After he set her on her feet, giggling, she hugged Talisa and Benjen, patting the young boy’s head. Sansa demanded to hold his two-year-old daughter Lyarra, as she had never met the little girl before.

“She’s beautiful, Robb,” softly said Sansa as she gazed at the sleeping babe’s face. “She looks like you.”

Sansa glanced at the empty spot beside him and said, “Where’s Rickon and Theon?”

“Mother is going to give our dear brother an earful later,” he scoffed. “He wanted to go out in the Kingswood. Theon took Ramsay Bolton to some whorehouse in the city.” Robb rolled his blue eyes, shaking his head.

Ramsay Bolton…now that was interesting. It was no secret how Ned Stark felt about the Boltons and Sansa wondered why her father would bring him to King’s Landing. She suddenly saw that most of the royal party was filing inside to escape the heat and walked back towards her parents.

“Where’s your sister?” asked her mother, looking around the yard. Sansa noticed how hopeful she looked and prayed that Arya would be civil.

“I don’t know,” finally answered Sansa. She would beat her sister if she could, as Arya was simply being difficult. “I’m sure she’s nearby.”

“She wasn’t with you?” asked her father.

“She’ll be back soon,” confidently said Sansa, ignoring her father’s question.

Sansa knew exactly what her sister was doing. Arya was trying to avoid seeing their parents for as long as possible, probably just to spite them. Before she could say anything else, Tywin Lannister approached.

“Lord Stark, Lady Stark,” he said with a slight bow. Sansa noticed how much her parents tense, her father’s face turning cold once again. She remembered that after Arya stopped responding to their letters, her mother pressed her father to write to Lord Tywin. He refused at first and said, _I would I would sooner entrust a child to a pit viper than to Lord Tywin._ Eventually his worry for Arya outweighed his hatred for Tywin, and he wrote asking him to look after his daughter.

“Lord Tywin,” reluctantly said her father.

“I believe that Lady Arya will be joining us for our midday meal,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me.”

As her mother chatted with Willas, Sansa thought, _Gods, Arya. Don’t do this right now._

* * *

Arya flew through the dense woods, heading south into the Kingswood. She felt safe surrounded by the huge oaks, the fallen leaves crunching under her horse’s feet. She rode until she felt her horse tire, pulling the reigns to stop. She dismounted and led the graceful creature over to a stream to drink, gently stroking its soft silver mane.

Her ears perked with the sound of a branch cracking. Arya’s hand flew to _Dark Sister_ ’s hilt. She heard crunching on the leaves and called out, “Who goes there?”

Arya heard more, louder crunching, her horse beginning to buck with fear. She kept the reigns in hand and tried to whisper comforts. A moment later, a boy on a black drestier pushed through the brush. Arya’s eyes widened when she realized that her baby brother Rickon was right in front of her. He was quite lanky, had tangled auburn hair that fell to his shoulders, and was wearing northern leathers. Two single-handed axes were strapped to his belt.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, his bright blue eyes burning into her. “These woods are owned by the king. No one can hunt here.” His tone was bold, making Arya smile.

“Do I look like a poacher?” asked Arya in a dry tone. “I don’t even have a bow.”

Rickon furrowed his eyebrows, trying to think of an adequate response. He eyed her suspiciously and asked, “Who are you?”

“Come on, Rick,” she said with a light smile. “My eyes should be a dead giveaway.”

Rickon’s eyes brightened with recognition. “Arya?” he asked, taking a hesitant step forward. He quickly threw his arms around her, Arya tensing at the show of affection. Although she never felt any anger towards Rickon, it was strange to have someone hug her.

He stepped back and grinned. “Sorry I didn’t recognize you. You look like a southerner with those clothes.”

“I take what I can get,” shrugged Arya. She glanced down at her tunic rolled to the sleeves and thin cloak. All of her clothes were southern style. “Why aren’t you at the castle? I’m sure everyone else has arrived by now.”

“Fuck that,” snorted Rickon. He threw out his arms, grinning as the wind blew back his hair. “I’d rather be out here.”

“I’m sure mother feels the same way,” said Arya.

“I figure she’ll be too distracted with Sansa’s wedding to get pissed at me,” shrugged Rickon. “And I could ask you the same question. Why aren’t you there?”

Arya’s mood fell. “Let’s just say that I take any chance I can get away from the southerners. We should probably head back before they send riders out looking for us.”

The two set off at a slow pace. Arya noticed that Rickon seemed to be melting in the southern heat.

“Where’s Nymeria?” asked Rickon.

Arya’s voice tightened. “I…I set her free outside of the city a few years ago. King’s Landing was terrible for her. I think she’s in the Riverlands now.”

She knew that Nymeria was in the Riverlands. While traveling on the King’s Road a few weeks before, Arya dreamed that she was her direwolf again, stalking prey with hundreds of other wolves.

“Oh,” said Rickon in a slightly disappointed tone.

Arya smoothly changed the subject. “Has Winterfell changed much?” she asked.

Rickon shrugged. “I was too young to remember how it was when you lived there. But I suppose some things have changed. Since father’s injury, Robb has replaced him in battle.”

“Injury?” asked Arya with a raised eyebrow.

“To his leg,” nodded Rickon. “A huge group of wildlings breached the Wall few years ago and father and Robb marched to Last Hearth. Father took a spear to the leg and Robb took charge. Ever since then, he hasn’t walked or ridden as well. Robb usually takes over his duties outside of Winterfell.”

“He has a family now, doesn’t he?” asked Arya.

Rickon grinned. “He married Talisa a few years ago. Benjen is five-years-old and he’s already a fierce thing. You’d like him. Lyarra isn’t even two but she already has Robb wrapped around her finger,” he said.

“And Bran? How is he?”

“He’s been different ever since his accident,” said Rickon. “More serious. He spends most of his time focusing on his visions.”

“He told me something about visions before I left,” she said, thinking about the last conversation she had with her brother. Bran had explained that he believed his Grace had more to do with dreaming of the past and future rather than warging. It seems that he had finally figured it out. Arya wished her brother came south too.

They rode in silence for some time, approaching King’s Landing’s gates. Gold Cloaks waved them through when they saw it was her. Rickon wrinkled his nose as they rode through the city. “It smells like shit,” he said.

“And you never get used to it,” muttered Arya. She pointed out important streets on the city, purposely avoiding Flea Bottom. There was no need to pass through a place as terrible as that. When they finally made it to the Red Keep’s courtyard, they dismounted their horses and handed the reigns to a stableboy.

A guard wearing chainmail and a grey cloak with white trimmed fur approached, grinning at Rickon. “Your mother is looking for you, wolf child,” called out a guard. Arya realized that it was Hallis Mollen, one of the guards she remembered from her childhood. He shot Rickon a teasing grin. “You finally find yourself a girl?”

Arya raised an eyebrow at Hallis and when her grey and gold eyes met his own, he gasped. “Arya Underfoot?” The guard beside him snickered as he struggled to find words. “I-I shouldn’t have said that…please forgive me. That was improper.”

“It’s good to see you, Hal,” smiled Arya, ignoring his japing.

Arya led Rickon through the Red Keep’s doors. He seemed uninterested with the castle and pointed to her waist, saying, “That’s a fancy sword.” Arya glanced at _Dark Sister_ ’s ruby covered hilt.

“I got in Braavos,” she said. She pulled it up an inch to display the Valyrian steel.

Rickon dropped his jaw. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed. “Is that real? It must have cost a fortune!” 

 _And I didn’t pay for any of it_ , thought Arya. Seeing the Valyrian steel blade made her think of the Targaryens. Of Aegon…

“Want to hold it?” asked Arya, pulling it out of her scabbard and handing it to him hilt first.

Rickon grinned and wildly swung it through the air, telling her how light it was. Arya barely heard him as she walked with her head down, a pit growing in her stomach. She took her sword back from Rickon after he nearly stabbed himself in the foot.

A servant approached and bowed, saying, “Lord Rickon? Welcome to the Red Keep. I have been sent to escort you to the Maidenvault.”

Arya clasped her brother’s shoulder and said, “I’ll meet you there. I need to change.” She sniffed and made a face. “You should too.”

They separated, Arya heading to her deserted part of the castle. She there open the door to the room and flipped open the metal latches on her trunk. She tore through the box until she found a suitable navy blue dress, quickly stripping her soiled riding clothes and tossing them onto the floor. She struggled to lace the dress up her back, pulling her hair out of her braid to let it cover the loose knots. She quickly braided two small pieces out of her face. She glanced in the mirror, smoothing down her dress, and decided that she looked good enough.

As Arya understood, there would be a feast later tonight. Right now her family was probably spending time in the Maidenvault, getting ready for the obnoxious affair that was about to take place. The Starks were not flashy people and did not appreciate wastefulness. She took a deep breath and left her room, making the long trip to the Maidenvault. Cersei made sure her chambers were in the most deserted part of the castle.

Her palms began to sweat with nervousness. She asked a servant where her family was and they said they were eating a midday meal in the Maidenvault’s main hall.

 _Be brave, Arya_ , she told herself, entering the room.

 _So this is what I’ve been missing in King’s Landing_ , she thought as she stood in the doorway. Rickon had just arrived. He ran into the room, nearly knocking over a servant holding a tray without any apologies. He skidded to a stop in front of Sansa, looking her up and down.

“What’s wrong with your hair?” he asked, reaching out and tugging at one of the loose pieces hanging down from her Southern styled up-do.

“Rickon!” cried out Sansa, pushing away his hand. “You haven’t even been here two minutes and you’re already acting like a wildling. The women of the court wear their hair this way.”

“Rickon Stark!” her mother called from the end of the table. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and Arya immediately knew that Rickon took her place as the troublesome child. Her mother looked much older than she remembered, her hair streaked with grey. Even with the displeasure on her face, Arya saw smile lines by by her eyes. “Where have you been? You knew that the King’s party would arrive today. You weren’t even here to greet your sister.”

“Yes I was,” insisted Rickon. “I was with Arya.” Arya took that as an invitation to enter the room, keeping her hands clasped in front of her.

“Arya?” her mother gasped, her eyes filling with tears. She rushed forward and pulled Arya into a tight hug. Arya tensed, unable to return the hug. “Arya, my sweet.” Her mother finally released her, her blue eyes shining with happiness. “You have grown into a beautiful young woman.”

“Thank you, mother,” said Arya, trying to keep her voice light.

Her father stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her.He cupped her face with his hands, placed a kiss on her forehead, and said, “You look just like Lyanna. We missed you, little wolf.”

 _Then why didn’t you come to visit_ , Arya thought. She had to force herself to keep from responding something rude.

Robb hugged Arya next, ruffling her hair. He wore handsome northern leathers and walked with his head held high. “This is my sister, Arya,” he said to his family. “Arya, this is my wife Talisa, my son Benjen, and my daughter Lyarra.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” said Talisa, holding a sleeping babe in her arms. Arya couldn’t quite place her accent but knew it was from across the Narrow Sea. She was quite tan and her black hair was pulled back into a braid. She wore a plum dressed trimmed with white fur. “Robb has told me so much about you.”

The little boy with curly black hair peaked out from behind Robb’s leg. He suddenly stepped forward, his blue eyes darting back and forth between Arya’s. “You’re a Graceling, like Uncle Bran.”

“Yes, I am,” awkwardly answered Arya.

“What’s your Grace?” he asked. Arya immediately felt uncomfortable, unsure of what to tell the boy when Sansa smoothly stepped in and asked Benjen what he thought of the city. The little boy boldly declared that the North was better. Arya agreed.

Robb pulled over a chair next to her mother for her to sit in. “I barely recognized you,” said her mother, looking down at her dress. “This is the first time I’ve seen you in a dress that isn’t dirtied or torn.”

“This is a rare occasion,” she said. “I try to avoid wearing dresses as much as possible. How’s Bran?” He was the first thing on her mind and she wished he could have come.

“He’s doing well,” answered Robb. “Always has his nose buried in a book.”

 _He can’t do much else now, can he?_ thought Arya.

They began to eat. “Where were you two?” asked her mother in a careful tone.

“Riding,” shrugged Rickon. “I thought Arya was a hunter.”

“You’re allowed to go riding alone?” asked her mother in a slightly scandalized tone.

“It’s perfectly safe, mother,” said Arya with a sigh. “I don’t go too far.” Her mother looked like she wanted to say something else but her father placed a hand on her arm, shaking his head.

“Benjen. Did you know that your aunt is the best rider in the Seven Kingdoms?” said Robb.

“Really?” asked Benjen, his eyes widening. “Even better than you, father?”

Before Robb could answer, Arya snorted with laughter. “Your father rides like a woman,” she said. “If he allows it, I will take you out riding.”

Talisa asked, “Do you go often?”

Arya nodded. “It’s one of the only ways I can find quiet in King’s Landing,” she said. “Though the Kingswood isn’t large enough.”

“Arya has a Dornish sand steed,” boasted Rickon, almost as if it was his horse too. “And a Valyrian steel sword.”

The conversation progressed like this for some time, her family asking questions and Arya giving vague answers. When they finally finished eating, Arya simply said she had to help Tommen with something and hightailed it out of the hall. She felt a bit guilty for ditching her family so soon but hadn’t they done the same to her? She found refuge in her room, wishing she wouldn’t be forced to go to that feast tonight.

* * *

Arya changed her dress before what she thought was a feast, this time wearing a pale grey dress. Sansa told her it would be held in one of the many halls in Maegor’s Holdfast; Arya thought that was strange, as feast were usually held in the Great Hall or the Queen’s Ballroom but she thought nothing of it.

But when she finally arrived at the hall and stood in the doorway, she realized that it was not a feast tonight; it was a dinner with the Starks, Baratheons, Lannisters, and Tyrells which were less people than she thought. Everyone was already seated at the table, presumably waiting for her. She held her head high and tried to give a confident appearance. For her mother’s sake, she shallowly curtsied before the king and queen, taking her seat next to Tommen across from Tywin and Tyrion. Luckily Joffrey was placed at the far end of the table next to Robert and Margaery and across from Cersei. Among the others at the table were the party from Winterfell, Willas Tyrell, and Lady Olenna.

She felt a tap on her arm and turned to see Tommen staring at her, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. “Are you alright?” he quietly asked.

“I’m fine,” muttered Arya. Servants placed the first course in front of them as Robert told a story about some hunting trip.

“You don’t look fine. If you hold that glass any tighter, it’ll shatter,” said Tommen, gesturing towards her hand. Arya glanced at her wineglass and saw that her knuckles were white. She placed it on the table and let out a long breath through her nose.

“I’m fine,” insisted Arya, gritting her teeth.

Tommen opened his mouth to press her again but thought better of it, shaking his head. Arya tossed back half her glass of Arbor Gold, praying that the alcohol would kick in soon.

“Where were you, Graceling? Off taking a set of fingers?” asked Joffrey, every set of eyes at the table looking towards her.

“Not yet, Prince Joffrey,” tiredly said Arya. She added under her breath, “But there’s still time in the day.”

Arya finally tuned into the conversation, hearing Robert say, “Avenging someone you love is the best feeling in the world. I avenged Lyanna’s death when I smashed my war hammer into that bastard Rhaegar Targaryen’s chest. With one blow, half his chest caved in and the rubies on his breastplate flew into the Trident!”

Arya found that after hearing the Targaryen’s side of the story, she almost felt pity for Rhaegar Targaryen.

Arya was pleased to see Cersei twitch at the mention of Lyanna.

Willas began to ask Robert questions about that fateful fight; Arya was grateful for his attempt to steer the conversation in a better direction.

“I never thought I would be relieved to hear my father tell that story for the thousandth time,” whispered Tommen. “Just ignore my brother, Arya. You’ll make things worse.”

Arya shrugged. “I’m not letting him step all over me,” she whispered back. “Especially in front of my family.” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her parents shooting her stern glances.

She ignored King Robert’s booming voice as he moved on, telling the story of a hunting trip he and Arya’s father went on while living at the Eyrie. Apparently, the two snuck out of the castle down into the mountains to hunt a rare snow leopard. Robert was too drunk and almost fell off a cliff when he had too much to drink but was saved by Ned. Those sitting at the table laughed when Robert explained that he always seemed to get them into trouble while Ned got them out. Well, everyone except Arya, Cersei, and Tywin.

“That story reminds me of the time Arya and I went hunting last year,” said Joffrey, a maniacal glint in his green eyes. Arya dug the end of the spoon she was holding into the wood. “For someone with a killing Grace, she couldn’t even manage to kill an injured duck. She returned empty handed.”

That much was true. Tommen begged her to join him on the hunt, thinking that she would enjoy the time in the Kingswood. The hunt was a disaster. Robert and Joffrey kept pressuring her to kill something, as they didn’t get many chances to see her killing Grace in action. Arya either made too much noise when approaching an animal or missed her mark each time she shot at it just to spite them. She even refused to shoot a duck with a broken wing.

The table went silent. Her eyes flitted to Tyrion’s. He had an almost begging look, as if to say, _let it go, Arya._ But Arya wouldn’t allow Joffrey to humiliate her in front of her family.

“You returned from that trip empty handed too, Joffrey,” said Arya. The smirk disappeared and Joffrey’s face turned pink with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

“I killed more—“

Arya raised her voice to speak over him. “I vividly remember you standing three feet away from that same duck, firing your crossbow and managing to miss. The poor thing simply hopped away before you could load another bolt,” said Arya. “I didn’t kill anything on that trip because I didn’t want to. You, on the other hand, didn’t kill anything because you couldn’t.”

Again, another uncomfortable silence stretched out, Joffrey’s face turning purple. Down at the end of the table, she head her mother admonish Rickon for laughing. Olenna Tyrell didn’t bother to hide her glee, instead snickering freely.

“Your daughter’s imagination has always been too vivid,” said Cersei in an icy tone. The glare she sent Arya could have set most men to stone, but she simply stared back.

“Do you go on many hunts in the north?” asked Margaery, attempting to diffuse the tension.

“Only for special occasions,” answered Robb. “We have men to do the hunting for us.”

“I hunt all the time, obviously,” said the pale, dark haired man sitting next to her. Arya finally turned to look at him, almost gasping when her eyes met his own. She noticed that he was a Graceling. He had the most unnerving eyes Arya had ever seen. One so pale it looked like a chip of dirty ice, the other blood red.

“We haven’t had the pleasure of meeting, Lady Arya,” he said, taking her hand and placing a kiss on it. “I am Ramsay Bolton.”

Arya simply pulled her hand back. She had heard the stories about the bastard Bolton…about what he did with his hunting Grace. She wasn’t sure if they were true as stories about Gracelings were often exaggerated but after meeting Ramsay, she was almost sure he used his hunting Grace to hurt other people. Arya didn’t know if his strange Graceling eyes or mannerisms unnerved her more but something about the man was definitely off.

He turned back to Margaery. “There’s nothing more thrilling than tracking and killing something. I will admit that I have grown a bit bored with the animals of the north. None offer a challenge,” said Ramsay.

“What would offer a challenge with a hunting Grace?” asked Tyrion in a light tone. “A person?” A few people at the table laughed at his joke, but Arya saw a disturbing amount of excitement in Ramsay’s eyes.

“Of course not,” he said in a voice so sincere Arya was sure it was fake. “The Forests of Qohor intrigue me, especially with the tales of the spotted tigers.”

“We’ll be hunting later this week,” slurred Robert, swaying slightly in his seat from the wine.

“I bet you couldn’t kill anything if you came,” sneered Joffrey, glancing at Arya.

“I bet I could,” spat out Arya, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well it’s hardly fair with your killing Grace,” scoffed Joffrey.

Arya shrugged. “Let’s even the odds then. I’ll join you on your ridiculous hunt without any weapons and I guarantee that I’ll come back with a larger kill than you.”

“And what do I get if I win? Your sword?”

Arya cruelly laughed. “The only way you’d get my sword is if you fight me for it. And we both know you’re too much of a coward to do that.”

“What did you call me?” screeched Joffrey, shooting to his feet.

“You heard me!” growled Arya, slamming her spoon on the table.

“Shut up!” bellowed Robert, startling everyone in the room. “Both of you! I can’t take this constant bickering. Stop acting like children for once! You won’t be joining us on the hunt, girl.”

“This happens all the time!” snarled Arya, pointing her finger at Joffrey. “He continues to antagonize me until I finally snap, and only then you step in. I’m going on that hunt just to see the look on his face when I prove him wrong.”

“Enough, Arya,” said her father, shooting her a stern glance. “Listen to the King.”

“Arya, please,” said Sansa from down the table.

Arya ignored her sister, instead glaring at the King. “I’m going on that hunt,” she said in a low tone.

“Insolence,” spat out Cersei. “You shouldn’t allow her to speak that way.”

“I don’t see the harm in a friendly wager,” weakly said Tyrion.

“There’s no reason for you to go on the hunt,” said her mother in a calm tone. Arya knew that voice. It was one she used around guests when Arya was misbehaving as if to say, _When they leave, you’re going to be in so much trouble._ Arya couldn’t care less; it was almost as if she did have a mother for the past eight years.

“The whole point is so I can see the shit cry when I—“

“Arya,” said Tywin in a sharp tone. She finally fell silent. “Out.”

Their eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity, both refusing to back down. Arya finally swallowed down her pride and stood from her seat, leaving the room without another word. Arya hadn’t listened to the king, the queen, her mother, her sister, or her father. But Tywin said two words and she listened. She sighed, wondering why she even bothered. Arya knew he only “befriended” her for his own purposes.

She stormed off to her room, wondering how much trouble she was going to be in. “Stupid,” she muttered, shaking her head. She shouldn’t have provoked Joffrey about something as small as his insults. Not only that, she ignored the king’s direct in front of her parents. 

She slammed the door to her room, wincing when she heard the wood crack. She pulled her dress to the side, tossing it in the corner of her room. It landed in a crumpled heap. She dressed in a clean tunic and pair of pants, finally seeing the letter sitting on her desk. She smiled and pried open the wax. 

> _Dear Arya_ ,
> 
> _In your last letter, you wrote that you feared what would happen if you grew too angry with Robert. You feel as if you have no control over your rage and for a good reason; the court learned how to push all of the right buttons to make you feel stupid and useless. You once described yourself as the king’s attack dog._
> 
> _I’ve told you that you have the power in the situation. Arya, you are the strongest person I know. No one can force you to do anything you don’t want to. And that means exploding in anger, too. If you go angry with Robert, the best thing for you to do is to walk away. You have the power to do whatever you want._
> 
> _If your family truly loves you, they will understand your reasoning for standing up to the king. They have no right to control your life any longer._
> 
> _I know I’ve asked this of you many times before, but I want nothing more than to marry you. I love you more than anything. I am beginning to understand why my father started a war over a woman. You would be my queen, my warrior…my Visenya._
> 
> _This flower is a winter rose. You are probably familiar with the same species that grows in the north. No flower is so rare or so precious but my uncle managed to grow them here. As blue as frost, this flower endures and can grow in terrible conditions. Out of all of the flowers I’ve sent you, this one truly exemplifies your spirit. You have endured the worst possible conditions in the worst possible place and have blossomed into something beautiful._
> 
> _You’ll always have a place with me in Dorne._
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Egg_

She threw herself onto her bed and stared at the ceiling. She missed Aegon. He was always good about talking her down when she was angry or upset. She wondered if he was enjoying his time in Dorne.

Exhausted by her time traveling, she soon dozed off. She woke to the sound of knocking at her door, groaning and rubbing her eyes. “Arya, sweetling. May I come in?” It was her father. Arya slowly got out of bed and opened the door, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand. She stepped aside, allowing her father to enter the room. She shut the door behind him and sat on the bed.

“I suppose you want to talk about my behavior at supper,” said Arya in a flat tone. “I thought there would be a feast. I hate those dinners.”

“Your mother wanted to come,” lightly said her father. “I convinced her that it would be better if I spoke to you. We thought you would be…happier to see us.”

“I am happy,” shrugged Arya. Even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. It was easier to lie than confront her emotions. “It’s just strange seeing you again.”

“You haven’t written.” Her father sat on the bed next to her.

Again, Arya shrugged. “I found I was just repeating myself in my letters,” she answered.

“And the prince’s comments—“

“—I don’t want to discuss the details of what I’ve done in King’s Landing,” she said in a cold tone. She let out a long sigh. “I’ll behave like a lady towards the royal family. And I won’t go on that hunt.”

Her father stood and placed a kiss on her forehead. “I know it’s strange to see us again. And believe me, Arya, we wanted to come visit before this. But Bran fell, winter was cruel, and wildlings invaded the north. But we’re happy to be here now.”

She curled her legs under her after he left, wondering if she was making a mistake by being dishonest. She said exactly what she knew her father wanted her to say. She knew if she even hinted that she was angry at them, if she said one word about her true feelings, she wouldn’t be able to close the floodgates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, the wedding...


	11. The Starks Part 2: The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Willas marry. Tyrion and Arya have an important conversation. Arya gets into trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your comments and kudos!

Arya never realized the hatred she felt towards the Faith of the Seven until spending time in the Sept of Baelor. She stood in the front row of the huge crowd that gathered for Sansa and Willas’s with the other nobles in the royal court. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, maybe from the heat or maybe from the dress that Shae laced impossibly tight.

The crowd was divided into two; one Tyrell side, one Stark side. Most of the Baratheons and Lannisters stood on the Tyrell side but Arya saw that Tyrion was standing next to her brother Rickon. She moved as far away from her mother as possible, standing next to Tyrion all the way at the end.

“You look happy,” commented Tyrion.

“I’m not in the mood,” she muttered, clasping her hands in front of her.

“Let me guess. Arguing with your parents?” he asked in a low tone.

“What else is new?” she sarcastically said.She glared down the row at Joffrey, watching as he boasted about his sword fighting skills to a very bored looking Tywin. “Just my mother again. She reminded me to be on my best behavior today. Like I’m the one that needs to be reminded about being polite.”

Arya pursed her lips and thought back to the argument she had with her mother that morning.

_Arya had never seen her sister in such a frazzled state. Even after the time Arya shoved mud down her dress in front of their Umber guests, Sansa was calmer than this. But on the morning of her wedding, she was anxiously pacing her room in her small clothes. Arya laid sprawled out on the plush furniture in Sansa’s chambers, wearing a pair of breeches and a loose tunic. Her hair was pulled into a knot on the top of her head. Sansa had begged her to sleep in her room last night. She complied, only because it was her sister’s last night as a Stark._

_“You’re going to burn a hole into that rug,” said Arya in a dry tone as she watched her sister frantically run her hands through her red hair._

_“Where is the dress?” she snapped, glaring at the door. Arya almost felt bad for the handmaiden who had to tell Sansa that there was a small hole in her dress._

_“I’m sure it’ll be back soon,” calmly said Arya. She pointed to the tray of fruits another handmaiden had brought to the room earlier. “You should eat something. You won’t get another chance until tonight.”_

_Sansa scoffed. “While I’m dressed like that? Absolutely not. The dress fits exactly. I can’t eat until tonight,” she said. “If that dress isn’t here in the next five minutes I’ll go find it myself!”_

_The door suddenly flew open, their mother striding in with her white dress and one young handmaiden. “Have you bathed?” she asked Sansa, looking her up and down._

_“Last night,” said Sansa. “I wanted my hair to dry correctly.”_

_“Good,” said her mother with a slight nod. She was wearing a dark grey dress embroidered with white wolves. A true Stark gown. “I’ll fix your hair after you’re dressed.” The handmaidens began to help her sister into the beautiful white Myrish lace dress._

_Her mother turned to Arya. “You’re not dressed yet!” she cried out._

_“I'm going to the wedding like this," said Arya._

_Her mother shot her a pointed look. “I thought I taught you better than that,” said her mother. “You can’t show up to your sister’s wedding looking like a street urchin.”_

_"I was only joking," muttered Arya. "Gods, can you please relax? My dress is in my room."_

_“Enough, Arya. I don’t want to argue with you today,” sighed her mother._

_Arya simply clenched her jaw and kept her mouth shut. Her family had been in King’s Landing for a little over a week. She had been getting along with her siblings quite well; she spent her morning watching Robb and Theon train in the yard (never participating, of course. They didn’t need to see what she was capable of), her afternoons riding or exploring King’s Landing with Rickon, and her nights playing games with Benjen or walking him through the Red Keep. The young boy had taken quite the liking to her and was always following her around the castle._

_As well as she was getting along with her siblings, she wasn’t getting along with her parents. The happiness over seeing each other again had faded and it seemed everything that Arya did was wrong. Her mother kept insisting that she join her and Sansa with the other ladies of the court for tea or spend more time inside the castle. She was absolutely scandalized by the fact that Arya often traveled alone. They argued constantly. Her father tried to diffuse the situation but often made it worse, as Arya felt as if there was no reason to listen to them anymore._

_Her mother handed her a brush and told her to fix her hair. Arya let her hair down from the top of her head and began to yank it though her knots, watching as her mother sent the handmaidens away and began to lace Sansa’s dress. Arya continued to brush her hair as her mother and Sansa spoke together quietly._

_Her mother twisted Sansa’s hair into a loose bun low on her head, allowing small curls to hang free. She stepped back and looked Sansa up and down, her eyes filling with tears as she gasped, “You look perfect.”_

_“Are you sure?” asked Sansa, tugging at her dress. “Maybe this isn’t—”_

_“Willas will love it, Sansa,” said Arya, standing and smiling. “You have nothing to worry about._

_Her mother embraced Sansa, placing a kiss on her forehead. There was a sudden knock at the door, her father entering a moment later. He wore neat Northern leathers and in his hands he held a beautiful grey cloak lined with white fur. Arya could see the direwolf sigil stitched onto the back._

_Her mother laced her arm through Arya’s and said, “Let’s leave them alone. I’ll help you get ready.” They exited Sansa’s room. Arya wanted to pull her arm from her mother’s grasp but knew it would make her feel guilty._

_“I don’t have to tell you to be on your best behavior today, do I?” asked her mother. This time, Arya pulled her arm away without any guilt._

_She rolled her eyes. “Contrary to what you believe, mother, I am exercising as much self control as I have. Cersei should be speaking to Joffrey about this.”_

_“I’m concerned with you, Arya,” said her mother in an impatient tone. “I know that the crown prince can be...crass but please, it’s your sister’s wedding. Family, duty—”_

_“—honor,” interrupted Arya, rolling her eyes. “I remember the fucking saying.”_

_“Arya Stark!”_

_She waved her hand, ignoring her mother’s shocked and angered look. “I’ll behave,” she muttered. “I would never ruin Sansa’s wedding. Give me a little more credit than that.”_

_Arya suddenly stopped at her heels, pointing down the hall to her mother’s chambers. “My handmaiden can help me get changed,” she said in a cool tone. She knew that Shae was already waiting. “I’ll see you at the Sept.”_

So here she stood, stuffed into a restricting dark blue dress with golden decorations. Just as Tyrion was about to respond, a hush fell over the room. Arya turned and rose on her tiptoes to see her father escorting her sister through the doors of the Sept of Baelor. She glanced towards the front of the room where Willas stood with the High Septon, his eyes filling with tears of happiness. Her father slowly walked Sansa down the aisle, Arya immediately recognizing that he was trying to hide his limp. When they reached the end, he kissed Sansa on her forehead and took his place besides her mother.

To start the ceremony, the septon said, “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

Willas gently pushed her Stark maiden cloak from her shoulders, shrouding her with a light green cloak embroidered with golden roses and the Tyrell family crest. He symbolically brought her under his protection and into his family but Arya could only stare at the Stark cloak abandoned on the ground.

The septon proclaimed, “My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

Arya knew she should be thinking about her sister but only could think of Aegon. She wondered if he was enjoying Dorne, if he was still in the Water Gardens. If he was thinking about her…

Sansa and Willas interlocked hands, the septon tying a ribbon around their wrists to symbolize their union. “Let it be known that Willas of House Tyrell and Sansa of House Stark are one heart, one flesh, and one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.” He unraveled the ribbon from their wrists but they kept their hands laced together.

In unison, Sansa and Willas recited their vows. “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am yours and you are mine, from this day until the end of my days.”

Willas shyly smiled and said, “With this kiss, I pledge my love.” He wrapped his arms around Sansa and kissed her for the first time. They both turned to face the crowd, a loud applause echoing throughout the Sept.

Arya felt her hands moving but wasn’t controlling them. All she could think about was the time she and Aegon spoke of marriage. She promised that she would never get married. She thought it was a pointless tradition because she would never find someone who loved her like that. But after watching Willas and Sansa together, she knew that she loved Aegon Targaryen but would never be able to marry him.

“Are you alright?” whispered Tyrion, grabbing her elbow. The applause continued.

Arya looked down and only stuttered out, “Huh?”

“You’re crying, Arya,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Arya raised a hand to her cheek to feel it wet with tears, wondering when they first began to fall.

She quickly wiped them away and shot Tyrion a weak smile. “I guess weddings do make everyone cry,” she said. She immediately knew that Tyrion didn’t buy her excuse, as her tears were obviously not ones of happiness. She did her best to keep the miserable look off her face and went to congratulate her older sister.

* * *

"Don't you think you've had enough," said Robb, his lips pressed into a thin line. Arya almost laughed at how much he looked like their mother. The wedding feast was still in full force, but Arya only began to enjoy herself when she started drinking. 

Rickon practically snarled, "Shut up! She's doing amazing I have money on this contest."

"That you're gonna lose," slurred Theon. He was obviously drunk, his eyes glazed over. 

Rickon snatched another mug of ale off a passing serving girl's tray, placing it down in front of Arya. She emptied it in three gulps, slamming it on the table and grinning. 

"Seven hells!" shouted Rickon. "You have two more mugs to go if you want to catch up, Greyjoy."

Theon didn't seem to hear his comment, instead saying to Arya, "I want to spar with you."

"No you don't," answered Arya in an amused tone. "You wouldn't be able to handle me." 

"Perhaps I could," a voice called out from behind. Arya felt slightly uncomfortable as she turned to see Ramsay Bolton approaching, a sweet smile painted on his face. 

"Lord Ramsay," greeted Robb. "Are you enjoying the feast?"

"Yes, I am," said Ramsay. "It is my first time in the south. I am so glad your father insisted on bringing me along." Theon chose that moment to pass out, his head landing in a bowl of soup. 

"Care to dance?" he asked Arya.

"No," she coldly answered. "I don't dance."

"Speaking of dancing," said Robb, standing from his chair. "I owe my wife one. If you'll excuse me." He made his way across the room to where her sister-in-law and mother were speaking. Rickon suddenly stood and left, probably attempting to flirt with a serving girl. 

Ramsay took Rickon's vacant seat behind her and scooted closer. "The capital truly is something," he said. 

 _So much for the idea of a pack_ , thought Arya.  _My brothers couldn't pick up a signal if I screamed it at them._

"If by something you mean a cesspool of shit and backstabbing liars, then yes, it is something," she said. 

Ramsay laughed, though it wasn't a nice one. It was sharp, almost angry. "You're much prettier than I expected," he said. 

"What did you expect, Lord Snow?" she asked, using the name she knew he would despise. 

Ramsay only laughed, seemingly amused. “A monster. That’s what they think of you in the north. The killer she-wolf, stalking her prey in the dead of night. Before you have a chance to see her silver and gold eyes, she’ll rip out your throat. They say similar things about me, of course. No one thinks highly of a Graceling. But a killing Graceling is especially different.”

Arya didn’t bother responding but Bolton wasn’t discouraged; he scooted a bit closer. She tried to move further away but she was already sitting on the edge of her chair.

“You must enjoy killing,” he said, his eyes burning into her own.

“I gain no pleasure from hurting others,” she spat out.

“You’re lying,” said Ramsay, an eager grin growing on his face. Arya clasped her mug of ale tighter, taking a deep breath through her nose. “Gracelings always enjoy their skill. Your little brother enjoys warging. Jaime Lannister enjoys swordplay. The Hound enjoys fighting. And I enjoy hunting. That means you enjoy killing, Lady Arya. You can be honest with me. We have a lot in common, you know.”

“I am nothing like you,” growled Arya. “I don’t enjoy killing.”

“Really?” asked Ramsay in an amused tone. "I heard you gouged out a man's eyes with a spoon when you were only a child. If that's not joy, I don't know what is."

That was the last straw. Arya rose from her seat and gritted out, "Stay the fuck away from me, you depraved, repulsive freak. If you come near me again, perhaps I will take some enjoyment out of killing you."

She strode away, taking a deep breath when she made it out of the courtyard. 

* * *

 

Sounds of laughter and music floated through the open doorways of the outdoor courtyard. It was the fourth hour of Sansa and Willas’s wedding feast and Arya had been outside since her terrible interaction with Ramsay Bolton. She knew her disappearance would be noticed by now, but she didn't want to go inside just yet. She sat on a balcony overlooking the sea, her knees tucked below her chin. She watched the rough waves from the dizzying height above Blackwater Bay, wondering where the dark blue sea ended and the deep purple sky began. She was embarrassed to admit that she was sniffling, wiping her nose on the back of her hand.

“These still can’t be tears from the wedding,” a voice called from behind her. She turned her head to see Tyrion approaching, holding two glasses of wine in his hand. He hopped up onto the balcony beside her and handed her a glass of wine.

“I already drank a lot,” she quietly said.

“I watched your contest with the young Greyjoy fellow. He’s still slumped over the table, drool pooling out of his mouth.”

Arya bitterly smiled. “I’ve been trained by the best. You, Robert, and Cersei drink enough liquor each year to fill the Gods Eye,” she said.

“I thought you didn’t like alcohol,” said Tyrion. “You never joined Bronn, Shae, and I in Braavos.”

“I don’t,” said Arya. “But I needed it tonight.”

“In all of the years that I’ve known you, I’ve only seen you cry twice. Once when Robert wrongly interrogated you after the incident at Winterfell and once when we left the castle,” he said. “Something really must be bothering you.”

Arya took another gulp of her wine, biting her lip. She tried to avoid crying as much as possible. It wouldn’t do any good for someone to see her this weak. “I never thought I would get married,” she said. “I bring death to this world, not life. But watching Sansa with someone she truly loves made me feel…jealous.”

She let the tears fall down her cheeks. “I’ll never get to marry someone I love,” she said.

 _Unless I want to break my father’s heart by running away with a Targaryen, possibly tearing apart the Seven Kingdoms in the process_ , she thought.

“We have that in common,” bitterly said Tyrion. “I was married once.”

Arya wiped the tears from her cheeks, furrowing her eyebrows with confusion. “When?” she asked.

“I was sixteen. Jaime and I were riding, when we heard a scream. She ran out onto the road, clothes half torn off, with two men on her heels. Jaime scared away the men easily enough, while l wrapped her in my cloak. She was too scared to send off on her own, so while Jaime hunted down the rapers l took her to the nearest inn and fed her. Her name was Tysha. Together we finished off three chickens and a flagon of wine. Impossible as it seems, there was a time when I was unaccustomed to wine. I forgot how afraid l was around girls. how I was always waiting for them to laugh at me or look away embarrassed, or ask me about my tall, handsome brother. I forgot about everything but Tysha. And somehow I found myself in her bed.”

“For three chickens, I should hope so,” joked Arya. She began to feel slightly uncomfortable, as Tyrion’s voice turned darker.

“It didn't last long. I didn't know what the hell I was doing. But she was good to me. She kissed me afterwards and sang me a song. And by morning I was deep enough in love to ask for her hand. A few lies, a few gold coins, one drunken septon and there you have it—man and wife. For a fortnight anyway, until the septon sobered up and told my father.”

Arya stayed silent, as she knew nothing good was to come out of this story.

“First, my father had Jaime tell me the truth. The girl was a whore, you see. Jaime had arranged the whole thing—the road, the rapers, all of it. He thought it was time I had a woman. After my brother confessed, my father brought in my wife and gave her to his guards. He paid her well—a silver for each man. How many whores command that kind of price? He brought me into the barracks and made me watch. By the end, she had so much silver that the coins were slipping through her fingers and rolling on to the floor."

“Why are you telling me this?” asked Arya.

“Be careful what you wish for. I wanted nothing more to marry Tysha. Yet look what it made me. A drunken, bitter man,” he said. “And now I’ve fallen in love with a second whore. A match will be arranged for you quite soon. And judging by Westeros’s most eligible bachelors, you won’t like it.”

“I’ll never accept any match made for me,” said Arya, clenching her wineglass a bit tighter.

“Perhaps not,” said Tyrion. “But that won’t stop them from trying.”

“What are you saying?” said Arya. “Have you heard anything?”

Tyrion held his hands up as a gesture of peace. “No, I haven’t. We should be getting back to the feast,” he finally said. “Before your mother comes looking.”

They walked back into the mess of music, laughter, and dancing. The seating was arranged in a u-shape with Sansa and Willas sitting by themselves in the middle. On one side of the room, sat King Robert, Queen Cersei, Mace Tyrell, Olenna Tyrell, Loras Tyrell, Joffrey, Margaery, and Tommen. On the other sat her parents, Robb, Talisa, Theon, Rickon, and Ramsay Bolton (who was thankfully gone). Arya and Tyrion separated as she slumped into her seat, ignoring the look her mother and Robb sent her way.

Arya felt a cold anger brewing as she got drunker and drunker. She sat silently for some time, watching the feast progress. It seemed that everyone was in a good mood—except for her, of course. As it got later, Sansa and Willas moved closer to each other; Willas often leaned forward and whispered something in his new bride’s ear, making her blush with embarrassment and excitement. Even with Tyrion’s warning, Arya wondered what it would be like to marry Aegon.

Robert suddenly stood, bellowing for the room to shut up. The music stopped and all eyes turned to the King, Arya keeping one hand on her wineglass as she glared at the fat fool that ran the kingdom. He clapped his hands announced that it was time for the bedding.

Arya tensed in her seat and saw her parents wince as eager lords and ladies moved towards Willas and Sansa. Both began to blush but looked excited. Her sister once told her that she thought the bedding would be a wicked and fun tradition, though Arya thought it was primitive and ridiculous; she refused to take part. She watched as Margaery made it to her brother Willas first, tugging at the strings of the tunic without fully pulling it off. Other ladies dragged him away as lords approached Sansa. Before the first lord could even get close, Rickon stuck out his foot and the man fell flat on his face. He pointed at the man and burst out laughing as Robb pushed past, sweeping Sansa into his arms and carrying her out of the room before anyone else could. Arya felt a bit of pride towards her siblings.

Minutes after Sansa and Willas were whisked away, Joffrey strode back into the plaza, looking at the empty table. “Did I miss the bedding?” he asked loudly. Before anyone could respond, he shrugged his shoulders and turned towards Olenna Tyrell. “Willas is a lucky man. It’s a shame the First Night tradition has been banned.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room, Arya wrapping her left hand around a knife sitting on the table. She noticed the look of Cersei tried to place her hand on Joffrey’s shoulder and coax him to sit but he only shrugged her away.

“As the heir to the Seven Kingdoms, it would—”

Arya slammed her knife into the table with so much force that a crack appeared. The loud sound shocked Joffrey, as he quieted and turned with surprise.

“Shut up,” she growled. “Before I make you.”

She kept her hand gripped around the knife and glared at Joffrey, ignoring the guards around their room who grabbed the hilts of their swords.

“How dare you speak that way to me?” he spat out. “You’re just a Graceling. You’re nothing compared to me. I’m heir to the Seven Kingdoms!”

Arya stood and pulled the knife out of the wood, her mismatched eyes burning with anger. Before any of the guards could react, Tywin Lannister was at her side, fearlessly prying the knife out of her fingers.

“Lady Arya is quite drunk. I’m sure she did not mean to threaten the prince,” he said, shooting her a stern look.

“Stop your bitching!” groaned the king, nearly knocking over a pitcher of wine. “Joffrey, stop insulting our guests. And watch your tongue, girl.”

"Yes, your grace," muttered Arya, looking down at her plate.

With a wave of Robert’s hand, the music continued, Tywin shooting Arya one last glance of warning. A few moments later, her mother stood above her, displeasure evident on her face. “It’s time for you to leave,” she said, her lips pressed into a thin line. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

“Yes, mother,” she sighed, using the table to help herself stand. With as much grace as she could muster in her drunken state, she raised her head high, gathered her skirts, and walked towards the door out of the room; she wondered how Cersei managed to function like this all the time, as she nearly tripped twice.

Before she could make it outside, Joffrey’s nasally voice called out, “Graceling!” Arya turned slow on her heels, wondering what else the prick wanted. He held an empty wineglass in his hands. “Fill my glass before you leave?”

Arya clenched her jaw and slowly walked forward. As she reached out to take the goblet from Joffrey, he let it slip through his fingers. A mocking grin grew on his face. “Oops,” he said. “How clumsy of me.”

Arya refused to show any sort of reaction, instead getting down on her hands and knees to reach under a table to grab the cup. She saw Rickon stand with anger only to be forced to sit by her father. He looked angry too and sympathetic, but Arya shook her head, telling him not to step in. Her fingers wrapped around the metal and she slowly rose, filling the goblet with the closest pitcher of wine. She held the full glass out to Joffrey, shooting him a blank stare.

He seemed angry that he couldn’t get a rise out of her. That was before he grabbed the wineglass. His green eyes lit up with malice as he held the glass over her head, slowly dumping the contents into her hair. Arya stood and stared at her feet, allowing the last few drops to drip onto her head.

“Are you done?” she finally asked in a cold tone, wine dripping down her face.

“Just about,” cheerfully said Joffrey as he tossed the goblet aside. No one moved or said a word.

Before she could stop herself, Arya’s hand wrapped around Joffrey’s wrist. She twisted it to a sharp angle, smiling as he fell to his knees and screamed in pain from the pressure. Arya calmly kept a hold on his wrist, not enough to break it but certainly enough to bruise. She ignored the shouts commanding her to stop or the hissing of swords, only moving her face an inch from Joffrey’s.

“I know you believe you can be especially terrible to me because I won’t do anything to you while my family is here,” she softly said, watching as he whimpered in pain. “Don’t believe for a second that I wouldn’t kill you if I needed to, regardless of who is here to see. Provoke me again, and you’ll witness first hand what type of Graceling I am.”

She suddenly released Joffrey’s wrist, smiling as he scrambled away. The smile on her face disappeared when she saw six men pointing swords at her, one of whom was Jaime Lannister; he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her if she hurt Joffrey.

“You should have her whipped, Robert!” snarled Cersei, kneeling at her son’s side. “That monster has given us enough trouble.”

Her father pushed past the guards and stood in front of her. “You allow your son to treat my daughter this way? First he harassed her the day of our arrival, now this?” he asked.

Her mother stepped forward next, glaring at Cersei. "That is immature behavior for someone who will inherit the throne." Arya's eyes widened, as she never expected her parents to protect her like that. 

“Enough, both of you!” bellowed Robert, pressing his fingers to his temples. "Are you forgetting who your king is?" Arya saw his blue eyes darken with anger, focusing on her own. “You may resemble Lyanna…but you are a stain to her memory. You’ll have to be punished.”

Arya saw her parents tense but held her chin high. She wouldn’t cower to anyone, regardless of what they were going to do to her.

“It is clear that you need to do something to calm yourself. We shouldn’t fault a Graceling like you for growing angry,” he said. With those words, she felt stupid and useless. “The Black Cells are growing quite crowded. Selmy, escort her down to clean them out. After, she will pray for forgiveness in the Sept.”

Arya saw her mother whiten and her father stiffen in anger and she resisted the urge to hang her head in shame. She would have to kill twenty men tonight. She was lucky that Robert didn't have her do this in front of a crowd. 

Arya bit her lip and refused to look at the king. She glanced at her parents to see her mother’s white face and her father’s lord’s face. Rickon only looked surprised. She was glad that Talisa left the feast quite early to take care of her two children and that Robb had not returned from delivering Sansa to her chambers for the bedding. Ser Barristan approached with no sword in hand, knowing that Arya always cooperated with him.

Ignoring the murmurs of the room, she glared and the king one last time and followed Selmy to hall. Her hair and dress were soaked with wine and she clenched her fists in anger. She wanted to do nothing more than leave the castle, ride south to Dorne, and find Aegon. Selmy looked as if he wanted to say something to empathize with her, as he hated Joffrey and had no respect left for Robert, but knew that it was his duty to side with the king. They silently walked to the Black Cells, Arya frowning when she stepped inside. 

He wordlessly handed her his sword, and she did what she was told as quickly as she could. When she finished, her dress was soaked with blood. Selmy walked her back upstairs to the sept, speaking to the septon for a moment once they entered. 

Arya sighed, kneeling before the statue of the Stranger. “Wait.” Selmy unclasped his white cloak and handed it to her.

Her eyes widened in surprise. She looked down at the white material in her hands and quietly said, “Thank you, Ser Barristan. You truly are the only honorable knight left.”

The older man only nodded. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning, my lady.”

As she stared up at the statue, for the first time in years, she felt as if she could truly rely on her family. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New one will be up soon. I need to do some heavy editing on it, so it may take a bit longer. There will be more Starks interactions in the next few chapters.


	12. The Starks Part 3: Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks try and come up with a plan to get Arya out of the city. Arya gets a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I did some heavy edits on this chapter. In truth, I've written this one about four times, each with different scenarios. This is the one I had the most fun writing so I decided to stick with it. At times, the actions of some characters may not make sense as they may not be acting as they would in the show or in the books. This is just a simple fanfic that I have fun writing. If you're looking for something with more substance and/or credibility, you've come to the wrong place. 
> 
> Enough with the ranting, thank you to all of those who commented and left kudos. Here's the new chapter!

Aegon couldn’t keep the smile from his face as his party approached King’s Landing, knowing that he would see Arya for the first time in months. He knew she would endlessly tease him when he admitted how much he missed her, as she always called him a hopeless romantic. Aegon always teased back, saying that northerners simply were too frozen to even think of happy things like falling in love. He wondered how she was getting along with her family as he knew she was quite anxious about their arrival for Sansa Stark’s wedding. Aegon was also eager to see her family, as even though she was angry about her abandonment, he could tell how fiercely she cared for them. Jon often ranted about the Starks, saying that Ned Stark was part of the reason that his father was dead. But Aegon wanted to form his own opinion about the man. If he was anything like Arya, he was sure that he wouldn’t agree with Jon.

Aegon had given the matter of rebellion much thought and knew that as long as Arya didn’t want him to start a war to take the throne, he wouldn’t. He secretly believed that when Joffrey became king, Arya would have no choice but to rebel or flee Westeros. And Aegon wouldn’t put it past Joffrey to threaten Arya’s family if she didn’t cooperate. Robert Baratheon was a truly awful man but Joffrey was something else entirely.

Ravens had been sent across the realm for a tourney in honor of Prince Joffrey’s birthday. In one of her letters, Arya claimed that Cersei didn’t want Sansa’s wedding to be the main event of the Starks’ visit. Jon, of course, insisted that it was foolish for Aegon to travel to the city where his family was slaughtered, especially for "something as ridiculous as a tourney". After all, Harrenhal was the start of the Targaryen’s downfall. But Oberyn and Ellaria offered to keep an eye on him.

His Dornish family members had made it clear how to felt about the royal family. Aegon had heard the stories of how Tywin Lannister commanded the Mountain to kill him, his mother, and his sister. But Gregor Clegane did more than kill; he bashed the fake baby’s head against the wall and raped his mother with brains still on his hands. Ser Amory Lorch dragged his sister out from underneath a bed and stabbed her half a hundred times. 

That was the one thing he couldn’t understand about Arya. Though she never wrote of Lord Tywin Lannister as she knew how he felt, in Braavos he sometimes overheard thoughts about him. Arya held him in high esteem, even regarding him as a father figure. But Aegon believed that Tywin only treated her well so she would behave around him.

“You bought enough gifts back for the entire city,” a smooth voice called out from behind him. “Are they all for your lover?”

Aegon turned his head to see his Uncle Oberyn ride from behind him on his black and red Dornish sand steed. He had tanned skin, black hair, and a black trimmed beard. He wore yellow flowing silks embroidered with the Martell sigil. His uncle was a forceful, lustful man with quick wit and a sharp tongue. He even forged several links of a maester chain at the Citadel. They called him the Red Viper for his impressive fighting skills and knowledge of poisons.

“She’s not my lover,” quickly answered Aegon. “Arya is a friend.”

“Sure,” smiled Oberyn. “Tell me, dear nephew. You always turned away the women sent to your chambers. Do you prefer the company of men, or is there someone else you are waiting for?”

“You’re reading into this too much,” said Aegon. He suddenly changed the subject. “Why are you coming to King’s Landing?”

“For the tourney, of course,” Oberyn answered. “And Jon Connington feared you would get into trouble.”

“But that’s not really why,” said Aegon. “There’s something else, isn’t there. It’s because you’ll have an opportunity to joust the Mountain, isn’t it?”

Oberyn smiled, meeting Aegon’s blue and purple eyes. “Did you read my thoughts?” he asked. Aegon shrugged. “You have nothing to worry about, Aegon. Gregor Clegane will get what is coming to him.”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about, Uncle Oberyn. The Mountain is a Graceling. Even Arya thinks she would have trouble beating him,” said Aegon. “You can’t take him yourself.”

“Gregor Clegane raped and murdered your mother. He would have murdered you if Varys hadn’t sent you away. I have been waiting many years to avenge Elia’s death. And if the opportunity arises during the tourney, I will take it,” his uncle said. His eyes darkened with anger. “The Tourney at King’s Landing will not end with the Martell’s being humiliated. We will have our revenge.”

* * *

As soon as Ser Barristan released her from the Black Cells, she went directly to her room and said that she wished to remain undisturbed. She pulled off her wine stained dress and immediately bathed, as Shae had a bath waiting for her. She sent her handmaiden away shortly after, as she wasn’t in a mood to chat. She was still extremely angry about how Joffrey mistreated her at Sansa’s wedding.

She fell asleep for some time, awakening to the sound of knocking at her door. She groaned and moved to it, opening it to see her mother standing there, her hands clasped in front of her. "I didn't want to be disturbed," muttered Arya. 

“I know,” said her mother. Arya could tell that she felt guilty about something. “I only want to speak with you for a moment.”

Arya stepped aside and allowed her mother to enter, shutting the door behind them. She looked around the room for a moment, probably shocked at how bare and small it was. Arya believed that it was actually meant as a servant's quarters, and Cersei purposely gave it to her. Her mother sat on the bed, Arya taking a seat behind her. 

"What is it?"

Her mother looked conflicted as she attempted to choose her words carefully. “Your father and I are worried about you,” she finally said.

“What makes you say that?” sarcastically asked Arya. “The fact that I executed twenty men last night?"

“Don’t joke about that,” quickly said her mother. “You have no idea what that did to me.”

“You shouldn’t worry about that, mother. The Black Cells are a joke. I spent my first night there when I was only 11 years old, after my first kill,” said Arya.

Her mother winced. “The way Joffrey treated you wasn’t kind. If—“

“Kind?” incredulously asked Arya. Her voice raised in anger. “He threatened to rape Sansa and when I said something, he humiliated me. Then when I defend myself, I get punished!”

“He’s the crowned prince,” sighed her mother. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“It’s a little late for that,” angrily said Arya. Perhaps it was because she spent the night on the marble floor of the sept after killing twenty men. "You're eight years late if you're attempting to protect me now. You have no idea what they've made me do."

"This wasn't our choice," sadly said her mother. "Do you truly believe that we wanted this for you?"

"Well, it happened," bitterly said Arya. "And you finally visited for Sansa's wedding. Not for me. If she had gotten married at Winterfell, would you have bothered visiting at all?"

“You know that your father’s relationship with the king is strained. And we couldn’t leave Bran until he was strong enough. There was a war with—"

"I don't want to hear it anymore!" snapped Arya, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I spent the last eight years maiming and killing whoever pissed Robert off. They've turned me into a monster. And I was abandoned here by the people who I looked to for protection."

“Arya,” sighed her mother. “I—“

“I’m tired,” interrupted Arya. “And this conversation is going nowhere.”

Her mother pressed her lips together, her blue eyes filled with sadness. For a moment, Arya felt a twinge of guilt and wanted to make amends but saw the first dagger she had used to kill a man sitting on her desk.

Her mother stood, smoothing down her skirts. She looked as if she wanted to say something else but Arya opened the door, refusing to meet her eyes. It seemed that her mother had only been gone for a few seconds when Arya decided that the castle was too claustrophobic, and she wouldn't spend another minute inside. She grabbed her sword belt and shoved a dagger into her boot, intent on getting out of the Red Keep for the day. 

* * *

Catelyn burst into her husband's solar after her conversation with Arya. "I don't care what you have to do, Ned. Arya is not staying in this city after we leave,” she said.

Ned and Robb were seated at a table hunched over scrolls. They looked surprised at her franticness. “Should I go?” uncertainly asked Robb.

“No,” said Catelyn, taking a seat at the table. “But I won’t allow Robert to keep her here any longer.”

“There’s not much we can do, Cat. The law is the law,” said Ned. “If it were that simple we would have gotten her back years before.”

“She blames us, Ned. She thinks that we abandoned her here. She called herself a monster,” said Catelyn. Her eyes filled with tears. "Robert had her execute twenty men last night. Can you imagine what they've done to her when we weren't here?"

Robb shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “There may be one solution,” he said. Both his parents inquisitively turned to him. “Marriage.”

“Marriage?” asked Ned, slightly confused.

Robb nodded. “I spoke with Willas and he said that many southerners marry their Graceling daughters off before their services are used. The laws of marriage outweigh Graceling laws. It’s not commonly known in the north because we don’t use peasant Gracelings as often.”

Catelyn suddenly brightened. “Marriage,” she said. “We haven’t even thought of an arrangement for Arya. Does she have any offers?”

“Not many, Cat,” said Ned, his face growing solemn. “Only one at the moment.”

“Who?” asked Catelyn. “We can arrange the match here.”

There was silence before her husband finally answered. “Ramsay Bolton,” said Ned.

Catelyn looked conflicted. Something was off about that boy, that much was obvious. Though she tried not to listen to any rumors about Gracelings, as there were many about Arya, the ones about Ramsay Bolton were particularly disturbing.

“That’s the only one?” asked Catelyn with disbelief. She knew her daughter was feared, but she was still a part of the most important family in the north. 

“There’s a large tourney next week,” offered Robb, scratching at his beard. “We can begin looking for matches there. And if all else fails, you can say that Arya needs to come north to meet potential suitors.”

Catelyn finally sighed with relief. “Now. How are we going to tell Arya?”

* * *

Arya took a deep breath as she stepped into the courtyard, trying to loosen her tight chest. Her conversation with her mother had made her angrier from the night before, and she still felt the weight of the executions upon her shoulders. She rolled her eyes at how crowded the yard was, and it seemed that a new envoy had just arrived at the castle. Her presence at the doorway of the stable was enough for one of the stable boys to say, "We'll get your horse saddled immediately, Lady Arya." 

She leaned against the doorway and fiddled with her nails, when an accented voice called out, "You must be the legendary Arya Stark."

Arya turned and raised a brow to see a tan man with black hair and a groomed beard standing behind her. He was muscular and light on his feet, wearing golden Dornish silks. 

"I'm not sure fabled is the right word," she answered. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

The man smiled. "My name is Oberyn Martell." He gently took her hand and kissed it. "We've heard much about you."

Arya's eyes widened, as she wasn't aware the Martells would be attending the tourney. "Bad things, I'm sure," she said. "Stories about Gracelings like me travel far."

"Gracelings are welcomed and respected in Dorne. I have quite the impressive Graceling in my service. A young, blue haired man with a fighting Grace from Tyrosh," he said lightly. Arya felt her heart flutter in her chest. "Unfortunately, there was not enough room in the castle for him to stay here. He is at an inn in the city, called the Crown's Jewel."

Arya struggled to keep the excitement out of her voice and said, "Perhaps I'll meet him at the tourney. Thank you, Lord Oberyn."

The stablehand stepped forward with her horse, and Arya swung herself onto the saddle.

Oberyn knowingly smiled, "Don't stay out too late, Lady Arya."

She grinned, kicking the horse into a gallop. She ignored the insults thrown at her as she nearly ran people over, her mind only focused on Aegon. She knew the inn quite well, as it was in one of the nicer parts of the city. It was a ten minute ride from the castle, but Arya managed to cut the time in half. When she finally arrived, she tied the reigns of her horse to a post and haphazardly threw the hood of her cloak up, fumbling with a piece of cloth that she tied over her right eye; it wouldn't do her any good to get recognized. She stepped into the inn, glad that it was too crowded for anyone to notice the door opening.

She froze when she saw him. He sat at a table with Duck and a few guards she didn't recognize, laughing with a mug of ale in his hand. His blue hair had grown a bit longer, and he wore a black doublet. His eyes immediately turned to the door as she entered, and he couldn't stop a grin from growing on his face. 

"I'm quite tired, lads," he said, standing from the table and throwing a silver stag down. "I'll be wanting some rest now."

He shot Arya a mischievous look as he walked to the staircase, heading to his room. Arya waited only until he disappeared from eyesight to follow, heading into the first open door that she saw. He turned and opened his arms, and she shut the door with her foot before jumping at him. 

"Aegon," she said, squeezing him tightly. After a moment, he gently kissed her. When the broke apart, she said, "You have no idea how happy I am to see you."

Aegon suddenly frowned. "You're upset. What's wrong?" he asked, taking her hand and guiding her to sit on the bed with him. 

Arya swallowed. "My family arrived in King's Landing almost a week ago, and my sister's wedding was yesterday. At the feast following the reception, Joffrey spoke disrespectfully about her. So I stepped in, and when I did he humiliated me." She thought back to the wine dripping down her head and clenched her fists in anger. "I acted rashly, and threatened to hurt him. The king then sent me down to the Black Cells to 'clean them out'. My entire family was there, and though I didn't have to kill in front of them, they knew."

"That's terrible Arya," said Aegon. 

"And when I spoke to my mother this morning, she attempted to comfort me, but I don't want to hear it anymore. I just want them gone," she bitterly said. 

"Do you really mean that?" asked Aegon. "You've missed them terribly for years." 

"It's been worse with them here. At least when they aren't, I don't have to try and behave around the royal family," said Arya. She suddenly straightened her shoulders. "Enough about me. Why are you here?"

Aegon shrugged. "For you, of course. I wanted to write to you, but we left too quickly for me to send a raven. My uncle Oberyn and his lover Ellaria Sand traveled with me."

Arya smiled at that, but she playfully pushed his shoulder. "It's very dangerous to have you in the city at all. If anyone found out—"

"They won't," confidently said Aegon. "Those who speak to me will only think of me as a lowborn man from Essos. I am going to compete in the tourney as a mystery knight, and I will name you my Queen of Love and Beauty."

"You are a fool, Aegon Targaryen," said Arya, smiling and shaking her head. 

"If I am a fool," said Aegon, swinging his leg over her and pushing her onto her back so that his hands were even with her head. "Then you are a fool too for falling in love with me."

He began to press kisses along her neck and practically growled, "You have no idea how much I wanted you."

"And you have no idea how much I needed this,” she gasped, pulling off his tunic. His hands found their way under her shirt as they deepened the kiss. 

He suddenly broke it apart and demanded, "When must you return to the castle?"

"Only before sunset," she grinned. "We have hours. Just know that you'll be sore for your jousting in three days time, because I won't be letting you off easy."

"I wouldn't dream of that," he said.

* * *

The next day, Arya and Tommen walked up the packed Street of Steel, heading to Tobho Mott’s shop. It was the largest and most expensive shop on the road and therefore stood at the top of the hill. They walked through the ebony and weirwood double doors and were greeted by a slim serving girl. The shop was large and filled with polished shields, swords, and pieces of armor.

“Prince Tommen,” curtsied the girl. “Master Mott is expecting you. He’ll be just a moment. Can I get you anything?”

“No thank you,” said Tommen, bending down and looking at an extremely realistic helmet in the shape of a bear.

Arya tagged along with Tommen because she didn’t want to go to tea with the ladies of the court. She begged Tommen to tell her mother that he wanted her to come along. King Robert was forcing him to compete in the tourney and he needed a new set of armor; Tommen stopped taking lessons with Ser Barristan years before as it was clear he would never grow to be a warrior. Arya knew he could make a great general off the battlefield, as he had a mind for strategy. Robert insisted that Tommen prove himself at the tourney even though he would probably get knocked off his horse in the first round of jousting.

“Prince Tommen,” a voice called from behind them. Arya turned to see a short, balding man in a black velvet coat with silver hammers embroidered on the sleeves. A large sapphire hung on a heavy silver chain about his neck. “I apologize for the delay. If you’d please take a seat, my apprentices will bring forth some of the pieces I believe you will like.”

Arya and Tommen sat on the comfortable pieces of furniture in the center of the room. Tobho waved his hands and apprentices brought forth beautiful golden suits of armor. “These are quite similar to the suits of armor I designed for your brother Prince Joffrey,” he said. “Though Joffrey requested more rubies.”

Tommen stood, taking a closer look at the pieces of armor. “You do great work, Master Mott, but these pieces are too ornate for my taste. I hope this will be the last time I wear armor,” he joked.

“My work is costly, and I make no apologies for that, my prince,” said Mott. “You will not find craftsmanship equal to mine anywhere in the world, I promise you. Visit every forge in King's Landing if you like, and compare for yourself. Any village smith can hammer out a shirt of mail; my work is art.”

Tommen frowned. “My grandfather wanted me to visit this shop first, but perhaps I should have started with a less expensive one. I’m sorry for wasting your time,” he said. Arya stood, nodding towards Mott.

Before they could leave, Tobho took one look at Arya and said, “The direwolf is the sigil of House Stark, is it not? I could fashion a direwolf helm so real that children will run from you in the street.”

Arya smiled and gently said, “My eyes are enough to make children fear me. Perhaps I’ll send Theon Greyjoy. He enjoys this type of armor. Good day, Master Mott.” The serving girl escorted Tommen and Arya to the front door when she nearly ran into Jaime Lannister. He was dressed in street clothes but his golden sword hung on his hip.

“Tommen,” he said, his eyebrows raised. “You’re not supposed to be out in the city alone.”

“I’m not, Uncle Jaime,” said Tommen. He pointed his thumb at Arya. “Arya is here.” Tommen suddenly felt at his coin pouch and said, “I’ll be right back. I wanted to pay Mott for the last time Joffrey started a brawl here.”

Tommen left Arya and Jaime alone and the tension grew in the air. The kind expression disappeared from his face and Jaime practically sneered at her. It was no secret how Cersei felt about Arya, therefore Jaime felt the same way.

“Getting armor for the tourney, Lady Arya?” he asked.

“We both know that Cersei made sure I won’t be competing,” coolly said Arya.

“I’m surprised you wouldn’t take after your father’s viewpoints on tourneys,” said Jaime. “You Starks don’t want people to know how you can fight. Though I don’t think that applies to you. Everyone knows what Arya Stark is capable of.”

Arya felt her blood begin to boil. She growled out, “We both know who would win in a fight between us, Kingslayer. Though I’d be sure to make it a fair. I wouldn’t stab you in the back.”

The smirk disappeared from Jaime’s face and Arya could tell that she had struck a nerve. “Enjoy the stands, Lady Arya. If you’re lucky, I’ll name you my Queen of Love and Beauty.”

Before Arya could come up with a retort, Tommen reappeared and Jaime swept past them into the armorer’s shop. Arya was fuming and wanted to do nothing more than break Jaime’s nose.

“Are you alright?” asked Tommen. “Your face is all red.”

Arya took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. “I’m fine,” she said. “Do you need to go to another blacksmith?”

Tommen nodded, “Let’s get this over with. The sooner the tourney is over, the better.” They quickly went in and out of another, less expensive armorer’s shop, Tommen paying a blacksmith to bring the armor all the way to the castle. After he had taken his measurements, they left to walk back to the castle.

Tommen seemed to notice Arya’s silence. “Did my uncle say something that bothered you?”

Arya bit her lip. “He mentioned things about the tourney. How I can’t compete. Honestly, I’d love nothing more to compete as a mystery knight and defeat everyone, only to disappear before they knew it was me,” she said.

Tommen smiled. “Are you thinking of the tale of the Knight of the Laughing Tree?” he asked in a teasing tone. When Arya scrunched her nose in confusion, he looked shocked. “How have you not heard this story? My father has told it half a hundred times!”

“I don’t listen when your father speaks,” said Arya. “What is this story?”

Tommen grinned, clearing his throat as he took on the tone of a mummer. “It all started many years ago at the Tourney at Harrenhal. A little crannogman was walking across the field, enjoying the warm spring day and harming none, when three large squires noticed him. This was _their_ world as they saw it, and he had no right to be there. They snatched away his spear and knocked I’m to the ground, cursing him as a foreigner.”

“Were they Freys?" she asked.

“None offered a name, but he marked their faces well so he could revenge himself upon them later. They shoved him down every time he tried to rise, and kicked him when he curled up on the ground. But then he heard a roar. ‘That’s my father’s man you’re kicking!’ howled the she-wolf.”

Arya perked up. “You’re speaking of Lyanna Stark.”

Tommen hid his smile and continued his tale. “The she-wolf bit into the squires with a tourney sword, scattering them all. The crannogman was bruised and bloodied, so she took him back to her lair to clean his cuts and bind them up with linen. There he met her pack: the wild wolf who led them, the quiet wolf beside him, and the pup who was the youngest of the four.”

Arya knew now that Tommen was using analogies for Brandon Stark, her father, and her uncle Benjen.

“That evening there was to be a feast in Harrenhal, to mark the opening of the tourney, and the she-wolf insisted that the lad attend. He was of high birth, with as much a right to place on the bench as any other man. She was not easy to refuse, this wolf maid, so he let the young pup find him garb suitable to a king’s feast, and went up to the great castle.”

“Under Harren’s roof he ate and drank with the wolves, and many of their sworn swords. The dragon prince sang a song so sad it made the wolf maid sniffle, but when her pup brother teased her for crying, she poured wine over his head. Amidst all this merriment, the little crannogman spied the three squires who’d attacked him. One served a pitchfork knight, one a porcupine, while the last attended a knight with two towers on his surcoat.”

“The wolf maid saw them too, and pointed them out to her brother. ‘I could find you a horse, and some armor that might fit,’ the wild wolf offered. The little crannogman thanked him, but gave no answer. His heart was torn. Crannogmen are smaller than most, and the lad was no knight. As much as he wished for his vengeance, he feared he would only make a fool of himself and shame his people.”

“You never heard this tale from your father?” suddenly asked Tommen, stopping on the street.

“How could I?” asked Arya. “I’ve been here. And Old Nan used to tell us stories. And there's no way you heard a story this eloquent from your father. There's not enough fucking or killing for it to be him.”

“No,” smiled Tommen. “Only parts of it. The rest I got from books and Ser Barristan.” He cleared his throat and continued.

“Five days of jousting were planned. The daughter of the castle was the queen of love and beauty, with brothers and an uncle to defend her, but all four sons of Harrenhal were defeated on the first day. Their conquerors reigned briefly as champions, until they were vanquished in turn. As it happened, the end of the first day saw the porcupine knight win a place among the champions, as well as the pitchfork knight and knight of the two towers. But late on the afternoon of that second day, as the shadows grew long, a mystery knight appeared on the lists.”

By this point, she was completely absorbed into the story; the sounds of the city had faded around them as they got closer to the castle. Mystery knights would often appear at tourneys, with helms concealing their faces, and shields that were either blank or bore some strange device. Sometimes they were famous champions in disguise. Barristan the Bold twice donned a mystery knight’s armor, the first time when he was only ten.

“Was it the crannogman?” she suddenly asked. 

“No one knows,” shrugged Tommen. “But the mystery knight was of short stature, and dressed in ill-fitting armor made up of bits and pieces. The device upon his shield was a heart tree of the old gods, a white weirwood with a laughing face. The mystery knight dipped his lance before the king and rode to the end of the lists, where the five champions had their pavilions. You know the three he challenged.”

“The porcupine knight, the pitchfork knight, and the knight of the twin towers,” said Arya. “Are you sure it was the crannogman?”

“Whoever he was, the old gods gave strength to his arm. The porcupine knight fell first, then the pitchfork knight, and lastly the knight of the two towers. None were well loved, so the common folk cheered lustily for the Knight of the Laughing Tree, as the new champion soon was called. When his fallen foes sought to ransom horse and armor, the Knight of the Laughing Tree spoke in a strange, booming voice. ‘ _Teach your squires honor, that shall be ransom enough.’_ Once the defeated knights chastised their squires sharply, their horses and armor were returned. And so the crannogman’s prayer was answered, maybe by himself or by someone else.”

“But what happened to the Knight of the Laughing Tree?” asked Arya.

“That night at the great castle, the storm lord swore he would unmask him, and the king himself urged men to challenge him, declaring that the face behind that helm was no friend of his. But the next morning, when the heralds blew their trumpets and the king took his seat, only two champions appeared. The Knight of the Laughing Tree had vanished. The king and the storm lord were wroth, and even sent his son the dragon prince to seek the man, but all they ever found was his painted shield, hanging abandoned in the tree. It was the dragon prince who won that tourney in the end.”

 _And he humiliated Elia Martell by naming Lyanna Stark the Queen of Love and Beauty and they ran away together, starting a war in the process,_ Arya thought.

“The crannogman wasn’t the mystery knight,” Arya said with a sudden firm belief.

“No?” asked Tommen in a slightly amused tone. “How can you be so sure?”

 _The Knight of the Laughing Tree was Lyanna Stark_ , thought Arya. She had a vivid childhood memory of asking her father if she could compete in a tourney one day. Her father made some vague statement about how she could be named the Queen of Love and Beauty instead, as it wasn’t a woman’s place to compete. When Arya wrinkled her nose and said she wanted to joust, she saw a sudden flash of sadness in her father’s face and he told her how much she reminded him of his sister. She hadn’t known what it meant when she was younger but it was clear enough now.

“I just am,” said Arya. She was in a much better mood than before, as Tommen’s story gave her the inspiration to get revenge on those who had wronged her.

Arya would compete in the tourney, and she would do it as the Knight of the Laughing Tree. It would drive Robert crazy as he hadn’t been able to unmask the knight the first time. Arya knew that Joffrey, the Hound, the Mountain, and Jaime Lannister were all competing. Arya would have a chance to embarrass those who had wronged her. And when she gained too much attention, she would disappear like her aunt had.

Late that night Arya snuck out of the castle and returned to a cheap armorer’s shop. She requested simple armor and an iron shield. After she had bought the armor, she traveled to an artisan’s stand and requested that he paint a smiling weirwood tree on her breastplate and shield. When she finally returned to her room hours later and stashed most of her supplies under her bed, she couldn’t help but hang the shield on the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: The Tourney at King's Landing.


	13. The Starks Part 4: The Tourney at King's Landing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya competes in the tourney and has a long talk with Aegon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so, so sorry for the delay! I leave to go to my first year of college the 24th and have been so busy with preparations. Additionally, I rewrote this chapter about six times. I hope I finally found the right balance. Thank you so much for your encouragement to get this chapter up. Please read my notes at the end of the chapter, because I anticipate a big delay before I can post the next one.
> 
> (P.S. It is quite late as I finish this chapter, so if you notice any grammatical errors that bug you, please let me know so I can fix them. Thanks friends!)

“This isn’t a toy,” sternly said Arya, holding _Dark Sister_ flat on her palms. She sat at the table next to Rickon, breaking fast with her family. “Nothing holds an edge like Valyrian steel. If you even run your finger along the blade, you could lose your hand. I’m letting you wear my sword today because I trust you, Rickon. Don’t make me regret this.”

“You won’t!” eagerly said her little brother, grabbing at the hilt.

Arya held on for a moment longer, fixing Rickon with a copy of her mother’s glare. “Be careful,” she said. “And I better not see you using it to terrorize common folk.” She glanced at her father who only looked amused, nodding to allow Rickon to take the sword. She finally let go and he whooped with excitement, securing the sword belt around his hips. Arya was quite jealous, as she was forced into a deep violet dress for the day.

“Ha, Robb!” he exclaimed, pointing his finger at her older brother. “Now I have a Valyrian steel sword too!”

Robb only rolled his eyes, as he hadn't bothered to wear  _Ice_ at the tourney. He only wore the blade when he needed to fulfill his lordly duties, as their father couldn't use it anymore after his injury. 

“Only for the tourney,” quickly said Arya. “I’ll need it back before you leave.”

“When can I get a Valyrian steel sword?” asked Benjen. “Can I wear yours, Aunt Arya?”

“No,” quickly said Talisa, shaking her head. “Maybe in fifteen years.”

“How do you think the jousting will go, Robb?” eagerly asked Sansa. Her hair was pulled into a low braid similar to the one their mother wore, and she wore a light green dress. “Do you think that you’ll win?”

Robb smiled and said, “I’d like to think that I’m a good jouster, but many skilled men are competing. Jaime Lannister, the Clegane brothers, Ser Barristan the Bold, the Knight of Flowers.”

“Don’t worry about Loras,” interrupted Willas, waving his hand. “He’s a great jouster but he’s won so many times I think he may focus more on the melee.”

“I’ll be competing at the archery range,” boasted Theon. “I would be shocked if I didn’t win.”

Arya ignored Theon’s compliments towards himself and turned to her older brother. “You should pray you don’t draw the Mountain, Robb,” said Arya, tearing at a piece of bread. “He killed a man at Joffrey’s betrothal tourney.”

“This isn’t an appropriate conversation,” tensely said their mother.

Rickon turned to Arya with wide blue eyes. “How did he kill someone?”

“He didn’t kill anyone,” Sansa interrupted, rolling her eyes. “It was an accident. Don’t listen to her.”

“Yes he did, Sansa,” impatiently said Arya. “Jon Arryn’s former squire, Ser Hugh of the Vale, was unfortunate enough to draw Gregor Clegane’s name for the second joust. Ser Hugh didn’t have many friends in King’s Landing and had no one to help him fasten his armor before the tourney. Unfortunately when one doesn’t ask for help in such an important process, they tend to make mistakes. Ser Hugh’s gorget was quite loose. When Gregor Clegane’s lance splintered on the third tilt, half the broken wood pierced Ser Hugh’s neck. He died there in the dirt, choking on his own blood.”

“Arya!” admonished their mother.

“She’s just messing with Rickon, mother,” impatiently said Sansa.

“No I’m not!” said Arya. “I wouldn’t lie about something as serious as murder.”

“You weren’t even there, Arya. How would you know?” asked Sansa.

“The Hound told me,” shrugged Arya.

“Why would he tell you that?” asked their father. Arya met his solemn grey eyes.

“We were arguing about tourneys, and I claimed that they weren't scary. He argued that they are when his brother is competing,” said Arya. She turned to Robb with a wolfish grin. “Moral of the story: always get help when putting on your armor.”

The topic of conversation moved away from violence in tournaments to who they thought the winner would be. Every member of their family was sure it would be Robb, but Arya knew that Aegon was competing. She had told him that she was competing in the tourney as a mystery knight, and he was thrilled at the prospect of jousting her. But he refused to show her his armor, which had been bothering her for days. He wanted to surprise her and begged for a favor the night before. She finally handed him an old rag she had found at the back of her wardrobe. Aegon tucked the fabric into his breast pocket and exclaimed that it would be the reason he won the tourney

Soon enough, it was time for the tourney to begin. Arya sat in the stands with her family and realized how many people had traveled to the city for Joffrey’s nameday tournament. In addition to the Oberyn Martell, Ellaria Sand, and the Sand Snakes (who really traveled north for Aegon), some others had joined. Renly Baratheon, Stannis Baratheon, Mace Tyrell, and other houses like the Freys, Daynes, Karstarks, Glovers, Umbers, Hightowers, Tarths, and Royces hadfound their way to the city.

The tourney was to consist of a joust, melee, and archery contest. Arya gasped at the extravagant prizes; 40,000 gold dragons for the winner of the joust, 20,000 dragons for the runner-up of the joust, 20,000 dragons to the winner of the melee, and 10,000 to the winner of the archery contest. While common folk starved, Robert gave out these ridiculous prizes.

Arya sat in the stands with her family in-between Rickon and Talisa. Talisa was quite nervous for her husband and feared that he would draw a difficult opponent. Benjen climbed onto Arya’s lap twenty minutes after the start of the tourney, firing off questions about the knights of the city. Arya answered them as best she could but soon found herself distracted with the mystery knights. The mystery knights had three days to join the jousting before they were no longer permitted. The longer someone waited, the harder opponents they faced. Arya knew that Aegon was joining today and craned her neck to the end of the list field.

She couldn’t hide her smile when she saw a figure dressed in black and red armor. “Who are those people?” asked Benjen.

“Those are the mystery knights,” smiled Arya. “No one knows their identities. They compete with bizarre sigils or none at all.”

“Why?” asked Benjen, wrinkling his nose. “Don’t they want to compete for their house?”

“Sometimes a person faces hostility at a tourney,” said Arya. “Or perhaps they’d like to name someone their Queen of Love and Beauty when they really shouldn’t.”

Benjen soon was absorbed in the jousting, standing and cheering for his father when he appeared. Robb drew the name of a Frey knight first and easily defeated him. Arya and all the Starks eagerly clapped at that. Throughout the day, Arya watched many people compete; soon Jaime Lannister, the Hound, the Mountain, Robb, Loras Tyrell, and Joffrey were all named champions. All of Joffrey’s opponents allowed him to beat them in fear of retaliation.

Soon it was Aegon’s turn. His shield was unmarked but the all black armor drew murmurs from the crowd. He rode a large black drestrier with red fabric under the black leather saddle. Arya could see that in the sunlight, the metal from his armor reflected an iridescent red. Aegon’s armor was even designed in the shape of scales.

 _The Dragonknight,_ she heard the crowd whisper. She glanced to the high dais, and she watched as Robert looked as if he was stuck in a trance. 

Her heart fluttered in her chest as she watched Aegon draw a name, then it dropped into her stomach when she saw Tommen ride forward.

Tommen looked awkward and nervous on his white horse and would rather nothing else than the joust be over. Still, he looked quite well put together in his armor. They bowed before King Robert, Aegon refusing to raise the visor of his helm. They took their places at opposite ends of the list field, Arya quickly directing the thought, _Be kind to him, Aegon. He’s not a good jouster._

The tilt was over within seconds. Aegon placed his lance directly in the center of Tommen’s shield, slowing his horse once he saw that Tommen would fall. Tommen flew backwards, Arya wincing as he hit the ground. He groaned for a moment and Aegon quickly dismounted, thrusting his hand in Tommen’s face. Regaining his breath, Tommen used Aegon to help him stand and raised his opponent's arm in victory. Robert seemed annoyed that his son had lost so quickly, but Tommen eagerly shook Aegon’s hand. After they finished, Aegon rode away from the grounds without a word.

Arya smiled. “He’s going to win the tourney,” she said.

"Mystery knights don't win very often," mused Willas. 

“Would you like to bet?” she snorted. “One hundred golden dragons that the dark knight wins the tournament.”

“I’ll take that bet,” piped up Theon. He was planning to compete in the archery competition later in the day. “Imagine what I can buy with one hundred golden dragons.”

“Maybe a friend,” shot back Arya. She suddenly stood when she saw Sansa and Willas doing the same, smoothing down her dress like she had seen her mother do a hundred times before. “Are you getting something to eat? I’m starving.”

“We’re going for a walk,” said Sansa, taking her new husband’s arm. “But we can get something for you at a stand.” Willas used his cane to assist him as they walked across the tourney grounds, Arya finding a stand with fried bread and meats. She quickly scarfed down more than was acceptable for a lady, Sansa once again rolling her eyes. But this was necessary for her plan.

After strolling along the tourney grounds for a bit more, Arya waited until Sansa and Willas turned for a moment. She then hunched over, shoved her fingers down her throat, and forced herself to throw up.

“Gods, Arya!” exclaimed her sister. “I told you not to eat that much!”

“It wasn’t the amount,” groaned Arya. She ignored the looks of disgust they were receiving from the crowd. Her throat burned, and she croaked out, “I think there was something wrong with that meat. I need to go back to the castle.”

"You don't look to well," said Willas. "I'll escort you back to the castle."

“There’s no need. We are already going back,” called a voice from behind. Arya turned to see Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand approaching, arms linked together. Ellaria was beautiful, with long black hair and large brown eyes. She wore orange Dornish silks and had golden beads braided into her hair. She gently felt Arya’s forehead with the back of her hand.

“You poor girl,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re burning up. Come, we’ll help you.”

“Are you sure?” asked Sansa. “I think…”

“It’s alright,” said Arya. “Just tell father that I left.”

Willas smiled at Oberyn and said, "The last time we attended a tourney together, you gave me a gimp leg. What will it be this time?"

"Perhaps a new mare," grinned Oberyn. He stuck out his hand and Willas eagerly shook it. "I had her brought from Sunspear. She is beautiful, pale white with a golden mane. And judging by her mother and father, she will be the fastest steed to date. I'll have her sent to you later today."

Arya knew that in his first tourney, Willas competed against Oberyn. His foot got caught in the stirrup as he fell from his horse, and the horse crushed his leg. Ever since then he needed a cane to walk, but Willas claimed the injury was good for him. He began to focus on scholarly pursuits, and never blamed Oberyn for the incident. 

"For my sake, I hope she isn't as fast as you claim she is," joked Willas. "I wouldn't want to lose my title as the best breeder in the Seven Kingdoms."

"As wonderful as this chat is, I think my sister should be getting back to the castle now," said Sansa, shooting Arya a look filled with concern. 

"Of course," said Oberyn.

Arya kept her arms wrapped around her stomach as the three began to make their way back to the Red Keep. When they were far enough away, Arya straightened and grinned. “Thank you,” she said. “I thought Sansa was going to see through that.”

“It is nothing,” waved Oberyn. “Aegon told us of your plan to compete in the tourney. I admire your bravery.”

“What will you do if you draw your dragon’s name?” teased Ellaria. The Dornish couple seemed to take a liking to her and surprisingly didn’t hold any animosity towards the Starks.

“I’ll kick his ass, of course,” grinned Arya. “Though Arya Stark will be sick tomorrow. Sadly, she will not be able to attend the tourney.”

“And what new mystery knight will join?” asked Oberyn.

“The one that will make Robert Baratheon’s blood boil the most. The Knight of the Laughing Tree,” she gleefully exclaimed.

“A bold choice,” said Oberyn. “Though I suggest quickly riding away when your joust ends. You wouldn’t want to face the king’s wrath.

“I don’t fear the king,” snorted Arya. “But I fear my mother, and that’s enough to keep me terrified of getting caught.”

* * *

Arya felt her hands begin to sweat with nervousness as the new mystery knights were presented on the second day of the tourney. There were only four more including herself. She positioned herself at the end of the row but immediately began to draw looks of surprise. Robert hadn’t seem to have noticed yet and Arya was able to draw a name. She smiled widely beneath her helm when she read, _Prince J_ _offrey Baratheon_. She handed the piece of paper to the attendant beside the mystery knights, shrugging as if she couldn’t read.

It had almost been too easy to trick everyone into thinking that she was sick. She didn’t attend dinner the night before or breakfast that morning, instead laying in her bed until she managed to convince her mother that she would feel better in a few days (and that no, she did not need a maester). As soon as she was alone, she dressed in her painted armor, sneaking out of a secret passage. She kept a cloak over her shield and armor until she arrived on the tourney grounds.

“Prince Joffrey Baratheon, and the mystery knight of…?” proclaimed the attendant, waiting for Arya to give a name.

 _They’ll name me soon enough_ , thought Arya, riding to the spot in front of Robert, Cersei, Tommen, and Tywin.

Joffrey already rode before the king. He wore a gaudy golden breastplate with a snarling lion on the front and his blunted lance had a golden tip. Joffrey took one glance at her dented and mismatched armor and small stature, rolling his eyes. “I want another opponent,” he exclaimed. “Someone worth my time.”

The nobles paid no attention to Arya until she pulled her painted shield off her back. A hush fell over the high dais, Arya wondering if she would pass her first test.

“What is the meaning of this?” snapped Robert, struggling to stand from his throne.

“I think it’s a mystery knight, father,” answered Tommen, shooting Arya a nervous glance. Because he had been the one to tell Arya the story only a few days before, he had to know she was behind the helm.

“You can mock me when you’ve won a joust, boy,” said Robert. He glared at Arya. “Unmask yourself.” Arya simply tightened the grip on her lance as the crowd began to murmur.

Tywin, ever the voice of reason, stepped forward from his seat below the King. “Mystery knights have every right to compete in the tourney, your grace,” he said.

Robert glared at her one last time before taking a swig from his mug of ale. “Start the damn tilt!” he roared. Arya rode to the far end by the commoners’ side of the list field. She waited as Joffrey handed his wife, Margaery Tyrell, a rose. No one seemed to care that a mystery knight with dented, mismatched armor was competing, though Arya could see her father paying more attention to this joust. Arya saw the Martells making bets in her favor.

Joffrey finally took his place at the opposite end of the list field and lowered the visor of his helm. When the horn finally blew, she kicked her heels into the mare she bought from a drunken squire the night before, sending the horse into a gallop. The two horses rode at each other at full speed but Arya could see that Joffrey thought no one would dare defeat him, especially not a lowly mystery knight.

But her lance hit his shield dead center and he flew backwards off his horse. Arya was disappointed to see that he remained unharmed as he shot to his feet, ripping off his helm and tossing it on the ground.

“You cheated!” he snarled, pointing his finger at her. Arya couldn’t stop smiling under her helm, as she had humiliated Joffrey at his own tournament. “I want him disqualified!”

But the common folk began to cheer, as it was the first time the whole tourney someone looking like them had won a joust. When Joffrey saw he might cause a riot if he insisted that she lose, he stalked off the list field. Arya didn’t bother waving to the common folk like most winners had done and rode off the jousting field.

She glanced at Robert and Cersei as she passed, smiling beneath her helm when she saw their faces. For the first time in years, Arya felt as if she had the upper hand against those who had wronged her. 

By the end of the day, both Arya and Aegon remained on the lists. Arya had defeated Joffrey, a Frey, and a Lannister knight. Aegon had defeated Tommen, a knight of the Vale, and Jaime Lannister. Arya heard the common folk whispering about how the Tourney at Harrenhal was repeating itself. Arya thought Aegon was drawing too much attention to himself by dressing in black and red armor. They already nicknamed him the Dragonknight. But it seemed that the Knight of the Laughing Tree attracted more attention.

After her last joust, some servant handed her a rose to give to a lady in the crowd. She froze for a moment, wondering if she should just toss it off her horse. Then she glanced at her family in the crowd, and saw baby Lyarra sitting up on Talisa's lap, babbling excitedly. Arya rode in front of her family, pushing the thorns off with her thumb. She leaned forward, and handed the rose to the baby. Lyarra smiled a toothless smile and squealed with excitement. 

She kept her eyes low as she turned her horse, riding past the common folk. She caught a hint of blue hair in the crowd, and she saw Aegon standing there, smiling proudly. 

She smiled beneath her helm and directed the thought,  _I'll find you later tonight._

* * *

She returned to the castle hours before the rest of the nobles. Shortly after she made it into her room and hid her armor, there was a knock at her door. It was a servant, one of Lord Tywin's. The young blonde boy told her that the Lord Hand wanted to speak with her. When she responded that she was ill, the boy only answered, "The Lord Hand expects your presence in a timely manner."

 _He's training them young_ , thought Arya. All she wanted to do was leave the castle and see Aegon, but at least the king wasn't summoning her. 

She messily braided her hair to the side and dressed in a loose tunic and pair of breeches. As a finishing touch, she wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and took as long as possible to walk to the Tower of the Hand just to annoy him. She climbed the long, narrow staircase, and raised her hand to knock.

"Enter," he called out. Arya stepped into the room to see him writing by candlelight.  

She kept her voice low and tired. "Aren't you afraid of getting sick?" she asked. Tywin ignored her jest and continued to write, so she took a seat and crossed her arms over her chest. 

Tywin finally spoke. "Your family leaves a day after the tourney ends. You will leave the afternoon after their ship departs."

The good mood she had been in since Aegon's arrival suddenly disappeared, and she remembered what it felt like to be miserable. She swallowed down her anger and coldly asked, "Who am I to torture this time?"

"You won't be torturing anyone. You will go to the Reach to collect wheat from farmers who will not supply it," said Tywin. 

"And if they refuse?" asked Arya. 

Tywin sighed, placing down his quill. "Do you really need an explanation?"

Arya straightened her back and said, "I want to hear you say it, Lord Tywin. Tell me exactly what I must do if these fools resist your orders."

Tywin narrowed his green eyes and said, "They are not my orders. They are King Robert's."

"That's rich," sarcastically said Arya. Perhaps it was defeated Joffrey that morning that made her bold, but Arya was tired of taking orders. "Everyone in Westeros knows that you rule the Seven Kingdoms. You haven't answered my question."

"If they refuse, you will do whatever you deem necessary to have them come to their senses."

"And if I refuse?"

Arya expected her question to shock Tywin, or even to anger him. 

But he only laughed. It was the strangest sound she ever heard; his laugh was deep and booming, not at all mocking. She had only seen him smile a handful of times, to hear him laugh was unnerving. She uncomfortably shifted in her seat. 

"I have been waiting ages for an answer like that," he said, amused at her discomfort.

"I'm not jesting," she self consciously answered. 

"Go ahead," said Tywin, looking down at his papers once more. "Refuse the king's orders. I'm not going to stop you."

Arya suddenly stood, not at all in the mood to deal with Lord Tywin. "You could have waited until my family left to tell me," she snapped. 

Tywin simply continued to sign his papers. 

She clenched her fists and asked, "Is there anything else you desire, my lord?"

Tywin finally looked up and said, "If you're going to pretend to be ill, you must do a better job of acting."

She only glared at him a moment longer before gritting out, "Goodnight, Lord Tywin."

She then stormed out of the room, forgetting everything good that happened to her that morning. All she wanted to do was to find Aegon, so made sure no one was in the hall and stepped out of a secret passage near the Tower of the Hand, pulling the hood of her cloak up before she stepped outside. It took her about a half an hour to get to the inn that Aegon was staying at, and from a block away she could hear the festivities. But tonight, she was in no mood to celebrate. 

She stepped into the crowded inn and immediately headed upstairs to the room she had gone to only three days before, opening the door without knocking. Aegon grinned as she entered, probably sensing her presence when she stepped through the door.

"How did it feel to knock Joffrey Baratheon on his arse today?" 

Arya smiled, thinking back to when she defeated Joffrey in the joust, but she began to picture the arms she had broken for Robert. The arms, bent the wrong way at the elbow, bone splinters sticking through skin.

Aegon frowned, gently taking her arm. "What happened?"

Arya sighed, and they sat on the bed together. "This morning was probably the best of my life. The feeling I had when I managed to put Joffrey, Cersei, and Robert in their place surpasses any emotion I've ever felt. But Lord Tywin called me into his solar, and informed me that I must travel to the Reach to force farmers to pay some ridiculous tax."

"What are you worried you'll have to do this time?" asked Aegon. 

Arya stared at her knuckles, and thought of how many times she had gotten them bloody from beating some poor peasant. 

"If they refuse to pay, I'll have to hurt the men, enough so that they never dishonor the Iron Throne again."

Aegon's blue and purple eyes bore into her own. "You'll do what he tells you to do?"

Arya barely listened to his question. "Who are these fools that resist his will? They've heard the stories. They have to know that he'll send me."

“Isn’t it in your power to refuse?” asked Aegon. “How can anyone force you to do anything?”

The fire burst into her throat and choked her. “He is the king!" she blurted out. "And you’re a fool too if you think I have a choice in the matter. I can’t dishonor my family.”

“You have a choice, Arya. He’s not the one who makes you a savage. You make yourself one when you bend yourself to his will.”

Arya sprung to her feet and swung at his jaw. She expected him to read her thoughts, to react, to grab her arm and stop her before she could do any damage. But when she realized he wasn't going to block her, she hesitated a moment before her palm connected with his cheek. The blow sent him careening to the floor, and her mouth dropped in surprise.

"Aegon!" she suddenly exclaimed, kneeling by his side. She was horrified at what she had done. "I...I—"

He held a hand to his cheek and kept his eyes closed, Arya praying she didn't break his jaw. After a moment, he worked his jaw from side to side.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, ashamed. "Did I break your jaw?"

“I don’t think it’s broken.” His voice was a whisper.

She put her hand to his face and felt the bones under his skin. She felt the other side of his face to compare. She could tell no difference, and she caught her breath with relief.

“I pulled back,” she anxiously said, “when I realized you weren’t fighting me. Why didn’t you fight back?”

"This’ll hurt for days.”

“Aegon…”

He looked at her, and sighed. “I won't fight when you're angry, or when I'm angry. We're dangerous to each other. What we do when we spar is only for practice."

Shame pricked behind her eyes, and she angrily rubbed the tears away. 

“I’ll never do it again,” she said. “I swear to it.”

He caught her eyes then, and held them. “I know you won’t. Arya. Don’t blame yourself. You expected me to fight back. You wouldn’t have struck me otherwise.”

But still, she should have known better. “It wasn’t even you who angered me. It was Robert.”

Aegon considered her for a moment. “What do you think would happen if you refused to do what Robert ordered?”

She didn’t know, really. She only imagined him sneering at her, his words crackling with contempt. “If I don’t do what he says, he’ll become angry. When he becomes angry, I’ll become angry. And then I’ll want to kill him.”

“Hmm.” He worked his mouth back and forth. “You’re afraid of your own anger.”

She stopped then and looked at him, because that seemed right to her. She was afraid of her own anger.

“But Robert isn’t even worth your anger,” Aegon said. “He’s no more than a bully.”

Arya snorted. “A bully who chops off people’s fingers or breaks their arms.”

“Not if you stop doing it for him,” Aegon said. “In my last letter, I wrote about the power you possessed. You're stronger than any of them, Arya. And much of the crown's power comes from you."

She was afraid of her own anger: She repeated it in her mind. She was afraid of what she would do to the king – and with good reason. She glanced at Aegon, with his red and now swollen jaw. She’d learned to control her skill, but she hadn’t learned to control her anger. And that meant she still didn’t control her Grace.

"My family, Aegon..." she said. "They'll be disappointed in me."

"Then they don't deserve to be your family," sternly said Aegon. "If they truly care for you, which I believe they do, they wouldn't turn their backs on you for standing up for yourself. Instead, they would support your decision and stand by your side."

She smiled a bit, mulling over his words. "Thank you, Aegon," she said.

"For now, just enjoy the tourney for as long as you can. You better hope you don't draw my name, Stark, because I'll beat you," boasted Aegon.

Arya rolled her eyes. "You can dream," she answered. She suddenly suddenly looked at him and asked, "Why do you believe that I can stand up to the king? That I am capable of not using violence?"

"Because I can tell what you think of me, Arya. Though I am a Targaryen and my family has done much to harm yours, you never judged me for that. You didn't judge me for having a perception Grace, either. You only judged my character, and the type of man that I am. If you can look past all of those things, then you don't need violence to stand up to an unjust king."

* * *

On the third day of the joust, it was no surprise to Arya when she saw the common folk shout with excitement when she rode into view. By now enough people had been defeated that the jousters could not pick their next opponent. Aegon was scheduled to ride later in the day and needed to get his shield repaired as his was practically destroyed after jousting with Jaime Lannister. She reached up and made sure her helmet was secure as she rode in front of the king. She held her head high as she waited for her opponent to appear. Robb had joined the Starks in the crowd, as Ser Barristan Selmy rode him down the day before.

Arya heard gasps from the crowd as her opponent approached. She turned her head and felt her heart drop into her stomach as the Mountain approached on a humongous black stallion. “The Knight of the Laughing Tree and Ser Gregor Clegane!” an attendant called out. Arya refused to bow before a smirking Robert and knew that he had planned for her to face the Mountain. Clegane had knocked down each of his opponents within the first tilt andmany people believed he would win the tourney.

But Arya had easy opponents so far. No one had seen what she was capable of yet, and though the Mountain was strong, Arya was a better rider. Clegane’s mount was clearly too aggressive for this type of jousting. Still, she knew it would be a difficult process.

She reached behind her neck to make sure her gorget was secure and rode to the end of the list field. All around her people seemed to be placing bets in support of the Mountain. But Arya only stared down the field, watching as the Mountain’s squire handed him his shield and lance.

A horn sounded to signal the start of the tilt, and Arya kicked her heels into her horse, crouched, and lowered her lance. As she got closer and closer to the Mountain, she realized how big he was and braced for impact as each of their lances hit their marks. It took every ounce of her strength and skill as a rider not to fall off the horse, but painful vibrations erupted up her arm as his lance shattered. The blow knocked the air out of her as she rode her horse to the opposite end, ignoring the roars of surprise from the crowd. She struggled to catch her breath and before she knew it, the Mountain had a fresh lance and the horn blew again.

Three more tilts and four broken lances later, there was still no winner. “What is taking so damn long?” she heard Robert Baratheon shout from his dais.

But Arya barely noticed the excitement of the crowd. Her blood roared into her ears and sweat dripped down into her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to take off her helm and breathe but couldn’t give away her identity. Arya held her hand over her eyes, as the setting sun was shining directly into it. She glanced down at her shield to see that the sun was reflecting off of the shiny metal. When she angled her arm a bit differently, a band of light appeared on the Mountain's chest. She smiled; this end of the field was usually worse with the sun in her eyes, but with the use of her shield, she could make it more difficult for Clegane.

Arya smiled beneath her helm and when the horn blew for the start of the fifth tilt, Arya urged her horse on faster than before. She waited until she was three seconds from impact, then she directed the light from his shield into his eyes. She saw him squint and try and tilt his head away, and his lance missed its mark.

But hers didn't. It was enough to knock him off balance and with a bit more force, he and his horse collapsed. Arya had never heard a sound so loud before. Common folk and nobles alike jumped to their feet, shouting her nickname. Arya couldn’t help herself and smiled, waving to the common folk who were especially excited as the Mountain often terrorized them. She rode her horse around the list field, waving to the crowd. Perhaps it wasn't the most honorable way to win, but Clegane wasn't an honorable jouster either. 

As she rode in front of her family, she heard screams of horror from the crowd. She turned her head and watched as the Mountain grabbed his great sword from his squire and decapitated his horse with one hand. Then he turned towards her, angrier than she had ever seen. Arya tried to turn her horse around but the animal wouldn’t respond to her commands as it was too startled by the smell of blood.

She managed to block the first blow with her iron shield but his Graceling strength knocked her off the horse. Her head cracked against the ground but her helmet managed to stay on. She commanded herself,  _Get up, get up, GET UP!_ as her vision tripled and three Mountains approached. Just as he swung his sword through the air, she managed to roll backwards. The force behind the sword kicked up a wave of earth. She dodged each of the Mountain’s blows, feeling the wind from each of his strikes. She felt naked without a sword in her hand, knowing that Rickon still had _Dark Sister_. He grew angrier as the fight dragged on, but Arya patiently waited, holding her shield close to her body.

As his sword swung down once again, Arya shoved her shield outwards, knocking his sword to the side. She waisted no time, bashing the edge of her shield into his nose. He stumbled backwards as blood gushed out before he buried his fist into her ribs. She flew backwards, landing on her back; pain exploded into her ribs as she gasped for air. The Mountain retrieved his sword and was about to drive it into her chest when someone blocked him. 

The metal sang as the two swords clashed, Arya watching as the Mountain and Hound battled.

“Leave him be!” snarled the Hound, standing over her.

The Mountain growled and thrust his sword forward and suddenly the two were locked into battle. They both seemed to be fueled by rage, Arya suddenly remembering how the Hound got his scars. She struggled to get to her feet, wheezing from the pain in her ribs.

“Stop this madness in the name of your king!” roared Robert Baratheon, standing from his seat. Arya didn’t fail to notice that Robert didn’t stop the fighting while she was battling the Mountain because he wanted to see the Knight of the Laughing Tree die. The Hound immediately kneeled, lowering his sword, while the Mountain simply threw his sword into the dirt and stalked off.

Arya rose to her feet, clenching her fists in pain. The Hound slowly stood, unsure of how to behave. She suddenly realized that she had to stop jousting. She was too injured to compete and she had attracted too much attention; in all honesty, she never planned this far ahead. The Hound had risked his life for her own without knowing who she was behind the helm. Arya knew he wanted to see his brother die, but she now had a begrudging sense of respect for him. She limped towards the Hound, pulling her shield off her arm and laying it as his feet.

To surrender ones shield usually meant that you were admitting defeat and were yielding to your opponent. But the crowd gasped as they realized that the Hound wasn’t competing in the tourney; the Knight of the Laughing Tree wanted the Hound to take his place. Arya limped back towards her horse and squeezed her eyes shut in pain as she pulled herself onto the saddle. She urged the mare into a gallop, past the cheering small folk, for once feeling like she had the upper hand.

* * *

Arya could barely walk, but somehow she managed to make it into the castle. She used the secret passageways to slip into her room, and had taken off most of her armor along the way. She couldn't lift her arms to unlace the straps behind her back, and the armor had a large dent on the face of the weirwood tree from the Mountain's punch. By the time she made it to her room, she was wheezing with the effort. When she reached a bit further, she launched herself into a coughing fit and nearly blacked out from the pain. 

That wasn't a good sign. She needed help, that much was clear, but she was too injured to travel outside of the castle to find Aegon. She thought about who she could trust inside the castle, and immediately remembered that Tommen had figured out that she was the Knight of the Laughing Tree. She quickly wrapped a cloak around her armor, praying that no one was in the castle, and made her way to Tommen's rooms. She couldn't use any passageways, as King Maegor the Cruel refused to build them in his own apartments.

She hesitated a moment outside his door, glancing around to make sure that no one was there, before she turned the knob and entered. She struggled and wheezed to lower herself on a bed, waiting for him to return from the tourney. It was hours before he finally came back. She found a pitcher of wine and began to drink until she numbed the pain. Ser Pounce, Tommen's adorable pet cat, jumped onto her the couch beside her and snuggled against her leg. Finally, she heard voices outside the hall and slipped into the corner of the room as Tommen entered. 

"Thank you, Ser Barristan. You rode well today. Yes, I will see you tomorrow morning," he said. "Goodnight."

Arya waited until the door was closed to whisper, "Tommen."

Tommen jumped and shouted, "Seven fucking hells!"'

"It's just me," she tiredly said. Ser Pounce rubbed against the side of her leg. "I need your help."

"You nearly stopped my heart," he sighed. His eyes suddenly widened. "Gods, you're quite pale. Are you well?"

She unclasped her cloak and displayed the dented armor. "The Mountain got a few good hits in. I can't get my armor off."

Tommen immediately stepped behind her, deftly unlacing the strings that kept her armor on and pulling it over her head before she could protest. Spots danced in her vision from the pain, and he grabbed her arm to keep her steady. 

"You need a maester," he firmly said. 

"No!" quickly answered Arya. "No one can suspect a thing. Just please, check to make sure they aren't too damaged and help wrap me up."

Tommen pressed his lips together before shaking his head, "You are either the bravest person I know, or the stupidest."

Arya finally smiled. "Awwww," she cooed. "You think I'm brave!"

Tommen helped her sit on the couch once again. "I was quite disappointed to see you give up your spot in the tourney. Given your state, however, I now understand why. I lost a lot of money from betting on you."

He opened a cabinet in his room and pulled out some salve and bandages. 

"I wasn't going to compete too long," she said as he kneeled beside her. "Just until tomorrow."

Tommen shook his head, smiling. "At least you put Joffrey in his place." Arya grinned, thinking of his arse hitting the ground. "Though I am surprised you resorted to tricks today."

"The joust went on too long," shrugged Arya. Tommen began to prepare the bandages. "And I only used the list field to my advantage. 

He suddenly lifted her shirt (Arya glad she wrapped her breasts beneath her armor), sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth. "You're already bruising," he explained. 

Arya glanced down to see that the side of her ribcage had turned a bright purple color. Tommen gently ran his fingers along the ribs, Arya wincing as he went along. 

"None are dislodged, so that is a good sign. If I had to guess, one or two are cracked. The salve will help, but you are going to be in pain for about a month," he said, gently rubbing the sharp smelling cream onto her swelling.

"I can't believe I didn't have my sword," she grumbled. "I nearly called out Rickon's name, but didn't want to give away my identity."

"You owe it to the Hound," said Tommen, tightly wrapping her torso in bandages. "I was shocked to see you hand over your shield. That was an honorable thing to do, Arya." He finally lowered her shirt. "If you experience anymore pain, cough up blood, or get a fever, you must see a maester. Promise me that, at least."

"I promise," said Arya, standing on her own. "Thank you, Tommen. You truly are a godsend."

He cockily grinned, holding his head higher. "I am sad to see the reign of the Knight of the Laughing Tree end, but at least you got a few good hits in. I will take care of your armor."

Arya raised herself on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on his cheek. "Goodnight, Tommen."

"Goodnight. Feel better," he said. As she walked away, they both were completely oblivious that someone was listening through the walls. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I am entering my first year of college, I am unsure if I will have any time to update fics. Therefore my next update will either be the week of Thanksgiving if I am particularly ambitious, or sometime after Christmas. I know, I hate when authors of fics do this, but I need to focus on adjusting to the school year. THIS FIC IS NOT ABANDONED. There just will be a bit of a delay before I can post my next chapter.
> 
> Thank you so much for your kind comments and kudos. I really enjoy hearing what you have to say about my story, and your comments often make my day. I apologize for the wait. See you all in a few months!
> 
> -AC333


	14. The Starks Part 5: Reparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya faces punishment for competing in the tourney. Torn, she must decide if she will do her duty or follow her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I want to start by thanking you all for your kind words. I was terrified of going to college but your encouragement put be a bit at ease. My first semester is in the books, and I finally got to posting this one. Sorry it took me so long, but I'll describe why in the notes at the end. Thank you all for sticking with this story!

“Come on, Aunt Arya!” shouted Benjen, tugging at her hand. “You promised to show me the dragon skulls.”

Arya winced and took a shallow breath. Even walking was painful. She woke up this morning still feeling the effects of the tourney. Today was a day off, giving the nobles a chance to speak with the king. 

Tommen had done a good job of binding her ribs, but she still was in a large amount of pain. A large purple bruise had spread across her chest and back, expanding from her ribcage. The cracked ribs created quite a lot of pressure when she breathed or moved but she couldn't allow anyone to know that she was injured. 

Early this morning, Benjen and Talisa stopped at her room, her nephew begging her to come with him while he explored the castle. She complied, only because she didn't want her fake sickness to last too long, as her mother might insist she see a maester. She also wanted to spend more time with Benjen, finding herself endeared with the young boy.

That is how she found herself in the bowels of the Red Keep, trying to remember where she saw the dragon skulls years before. At least this time she remembered to bring a torch.

“I think we’re getting close,” said Arya as they walked deeper into the castle.

“Why aren’t the skulls in the throne room?” asked Benjen.

“King Robert had them moved to the cellars after his rebellion,” said Arya. “He couldn't stand to have any Targaryen paraphernalia left." 

They walked down a large, winding staircase, Arya smiling as she said, “We’re here.”

She felt like a child again as Benjen gasped in awe. The torch light flickered across the black skulls of the dragons, making them look alive.

The skulls reminded her of Aegon.

“They’re scary,” said Benjen, gripping her hand a bit tighter. “Theon told me that the Targaryens used their dragons to kill Starks.”

“Theon is a liar,” said Arya, hanging the torch on a notch on the wall. She brought Benjen down to the smallest skull; it was no bigger than a housecoat. “The last Targaryens didn’t have dragons.” She pointed to the tiny skull. “This is the skull of of one of the last two hatchlings born on Dragonstone. They say that this one was a green female; small, sickly, misshapen, and stunted with withered wings.”

“But why?” asked Benjen. “I thought they all grew to be big and strong.”

Arya shrugged. “No one really knows. Some say King Aegon III poisoned her as he had been afraid of dragons since he watched his uncle’s devour his mother.”

“Come,” she said, pulling him down the line of skulls. There is Ghiscar and Valryon, Vermithrax, Essovius... Archonei, Meraxes, Vhagar…”

As they walked down the row, the skulls grew bigger and bigger, until they stood before one so large that a man atop a horse could ride through its open jaws.

“And Balerion the Dread... whose fire forged the Seven Kingdoms into one. Our ancestor was the only king who had enough sense to kneel before Aegon the Conquerer and his dragon Balerion. Torrhen Stark, the King who Knelt."

Benjen looked surprised, as if he hadn’t heard that story before. “Father told me that the brave men killed the dragons.”

“No, they didn’t,” said Arya, shaking her head. “The brave men rode the dragons.”

Benjen suddenly looked at her, frowning. “Why didn’t you come to the tourney yesterday? Grandfather said that you were ill. You look fine now.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” asked Arya bending down to his level. “You have to promise not to tell anyone. Not even your mother or father.”

Arya already knew she could tell him a secret because Benjen was so stubborn. Rickon told her that Benjen saw him sneaking into the stables with Shaggydog to go hunting in the Wolfswood. This was after their mother alerted the entire castle to keep a watch out for Rickon as he had been skipping his lessons. The entire castle panicked for three days but Benjen never said a word.

“I promise,” he said, looking as serious as a five-year-old could.

“I actually have been at the tourney. I lied about being sick,” she said.

“Why would you do that? Didn’t you want to sit with me?” pouted Benjen.

“Of course,” laughed Arya. “I wasn’t watching. I was competing.”

Benjen's blue eyes widened. “But…but…you’re a girl!”

“That’s why you have to keep this a secret. With armor and a helm, no one could tell,” she said. “I competed as a mystery knight.”

“Which one?” excitedly asked Benjen. “Are you still on the lists?”

“I was, until today. I was the Knight of the Laughing Tree,” she said.

Benjen gasped. “You defeated the Mountain! But…aren’t you hurt now?”

“I’m a bit sore,” said Arya. “But I’m fine.”

“That’s amazing!” said Benjen. “You still should be able to compete.”

“At least I got to knock Joffrey on his arse,” laughed Arya. “Don’t repeat that.”

“You’re the bravest person I know, Aunt Arya,” said Benjen. “You could ride a dragon.”

"I'll stick to horses," grinned Arya.

"Can you take me riding today?" asked Benjen, his eyes widening with excitement. 

Arya sighed and said, "I'm a bit too sore to go riding." When she saw Benjen wilt with disappointment, she quickly added, "But we can go to the Godswood. I can show you how to climb the oak tree."

"Okay!" he grinned. "I never get to climb at home. Grandmother doesn't let me."

Arya felt her heart pang, thinking of her brother's fall. "Well, we don't have to tell her," she winked. He reached out and grabbed her hand, Arya wondering if he would do the same if he knew what she was capable of. 

* * *

Cersei POV

“Your grace,” said Qyburn, bowing before the queen. He had arrived at her chambers after Cersei sent him to snoop on Arya Stark to find something negative about the girl. Varys had his spies and Qyburn had his own. He had ordered his children to watch her movements and report back to him if they saw something noteworthy. After the girl had assaulted Joffrey at the wedding, Cersei wanted her dead. She even asked Jaime to do it for her, but he refused. So she decided to have Qyburn find some blackmail material. Cersei knew she was up to something, as she had been in a much better mood ever since the tourney began. 

Qyburn was a tall, frail man who wore a grey robe but was not a maester anymore. He was stripped of his chain when the Citadel discovered that he was experimenting on humans. He held the belief that if a few men died for a greater cause, his actions were justifiable. After Qyburn assisted Cersei through her challenging pregnancy with Tommen, she had kept him around ever since.

“Is that so?” asked Cersei, reclining on her couch and taking a sip of her Arbor Gold wine.

“Well, your grace,” began Qyburn. "As you know, I ordered my children to watch Arya Stark's every movement. Though she supposedly had been ill these past few days, they noticed her walking through Maegor's Holdfast. She entered Prince Tommen's chambers. At this point, I was summoned and entered the room beside's the prince's to listen. He didn't return for hours, as he was attending the tourney. But once he did, the details of the conversation where quite interesting."

Cersei glowered, as she didn't want the girl to corrupt her son anymore. Her son had such a strange friendship with the Graceling, one that she did not approve of in the slightest. "What did they speak about?"

"The tourney. And how Arya Stark competed as a mystery knight. The Knight of the Laughing Tree, in fact."

Cersei clenched her wineglass in anger, as that mystery knight had been the one to humiliate her family throughout the tourney. "Is there any proof of this?"

"Of course, your grace," he answered. He snapped his fingers and two of his attendants ran forward, carrying a heavy shield. Cersei smiled when she saw the painted weirwood sigil. 

"We'll have to go speak with Robert. Well done, Qyburn," said Cersei. "We'll go this afternoon."

“As you wish, your grace,” answered Qyburn, bowing.

She smiled as he exited, thinking,  _This is almost too good to be true. I have the little Stark bitch right where I want her._

Cersei smiled again and finished her glass of wine.

* * *

Arya POV

Arya smiled and watched as Benjen waved at her from the branches of the oak tree. She had lifted him onto the lowest branch and instructed where he should put his hands and feet. After a few minutes of instruction, he waved her off and began to climb himself. Arya kept a careful watch to make sure that she would catch him if he were to fall. 

"Arya!" she heard someone call. She turned to see Tommen running towards her, the friendly hello in her throat freezing when she saw how panicked he looked. He stopped before her, bending over and taking deep breaths. He had been running for a while. 

"Gods, Tommen," she said, gently placing her hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost?"

Tommen nodded, still wheezing, his face bright red. In between short breaths he said, "The...the shield. It's gone."

Arya felt the blood drain out of her face. “What do you mean, ‘gone’?”

“I mean it’s gone!” said Tommen, throwing up his hands. “I had it hidden under my bed and was going to discard of it today but when I looked, it wasn’t there. I practically tore my room apart looking for it and interrogated every maid and servant that entered but no one knew anything.”

“Fuck,” she muttered, running her fingers through her hair. “FUCK, TOMMEN! Do you know what that shield could do to me?!?”

Arya, forgetting her nephew was in the tree above, heard him call down in a singsongy voice, "That's a bad word!"

"Don't repeat that, Benjen," said Arya. She turned back to Tommen, sighing."

“I…I’m sorry,” honestly said her friend. “I thought I was careful enough.”

Arya stepped forward, gripping his sleeve. “Tommen, if Robert realizes this is me, he'll kill me…worse, he'll kill you if he realizes that you're involved."

"It won't come to that," said Tommen. He began to fidget with the edge of his tunic, his green eyes filled with uncertainty. "We'll be in trouble, yes, but—"

"The last time I disobeyed your father, he had a whipping boy brought in! I was only ten and three then. What will he do to punish me now?" she groaned.

Tommen took a hold of her arms and firmly said, "I won't let him." He reached down and clasped her hand. "Whatever happens, we'll face it together."

As Tommen gripped her hand, Arya wondered if his reassurance was for herself or for himself.

* * *

Cersei POV

Cersei decided it was time. Time to expose the Graceling as the conniving bitch that she was. The girl acted as if she had done nothing wrong, her mysterious illness from the previous days of the tourney disappearing. Cersei instructed an attendant to bring the shield to her husbands chambers as she checked her hair in her mirror. Her blonde hair was piled onto her head (perfectly) and her dress was unwrinkled. She exited her large chambers in the Holdfast, knowing that her father and Robert would be together in the king’s chambers as Robert was too fat to walk up the Tower of the Hand’s stairs. She only wanted to speak with Robert, as her father had a soft spot for the girl.

As she exited her chambers, two of her guards followed closely behind. Her skirts swirling behind her, she entered her husband’s chambers without knocking.

“I learned something today that you both will find quite interesting,” said Cersei, standing before the two. The attendant scurried in, bowed, placed the shield on the table facedown, and scurried out of the room without another glance.

Tywin didn’t look up from his papers, instead sighing, “What is it, Cersei? The king and I are quite busy.”

It was amazing how with only a few words, her father could make her feel like a child again.

She sat down next to her husband and kept her voice even, saying, “My mistake. I thought that you of all people would want to know of someone lying to you."

“You obviously have a point, Cersei, so stop wasting my time and get to it,” said Tywin, sighing and lowering his papers. He glared at Cersei, his green eyes cold and calculating. “Who do you want killed today?”

“No one,” innocently said Cersei. She gestured towards the shield. “But you should take a look at this."

Robert waited for Tywin to flip the shield over. Her father stifled a grunt of anger, quietly flipping over a shield. When they saw the Knight of the Laughing Tree's emblem, both their eyes widened.

“How the hell did you get this, woman?" asked Robert, his blue eyes narrowing when he saw the shield. 

Cersei poured herself a glass of wine, reveling in the attention. Hiding the smile that was about to grow on her face, she said, “That is no matter. The only thing that matters is I found these in Tommen's chambers after the Graceling girl had visited him. He of course could not be the knight, but the girl had something hidden in her arms when she entered the room and left without it.”

“What?” shouted Robert, suddenly perking up. 

“Your grace, this doesn’t mean anything,” began Tywin, shooting Cersei a pointed look. “Perhaps the girl left a present with Tommen, they are quite close."

"Well, Robert, another strange detail is the Graceling's sickness right at the same time the Knight of the Laughing Tree began to compete. Also, she accompanied Tommen to buy armor for the tourney," Cersei explained. Though she didn't want her son to get in trouble, perhaps this would teach him a lesson about making friends in the wrong places. 

“Treason from the Graceling, and treason from my son!” bellowed Robert. “Where’s Ned?” Robert grabbed the shield and stormed out of the room, presumably heading to scream at Ned Stark.

Her father shot her an angry glare. “What do you want to come from this, Cersei?” snapped her father. “Arya Stark is very dangerous. Why provoke her?”

“Nothing, father,” innocently said Cersei, smiling into her wine. “Nothing at all. I do find it a bit embarrassing, though.”

“What?” he sighed.

“Your relationship with the girl, of course,” she answered. She ran her finger along the rim of the wineglass. “Honestly, father, it’s almost embarrassing how weak you appear. Defending her at every opportunity—“

Her father’s green eyes blazed with anger, and for a moment Cersei felt afraid. His tone was calm as he interrupted her. “It is a wonder that the girl hasn’t killed you, Joffrey, and Robert by now. She is powerful, Cersei. More powerful than anyone else in the Seven Kingdoms. I treat her the way I do in an attempt to keep her under control. I am doing my best to keep us all alive, but you three seem to be suicidal.”

Cersei swallowed down her anger and rose from the chair. “Whatever you need to tell yourself. Just remember, the Graceling already has a father.”

* * *

Arya POV

After speaking with Tommen, Arya took Benjen back to Talisa and entered her chambers where she had been for the last two hours, skipping the midday meal. She had already bitten her nails to nubs while thinking about her next move, wondering what she could do about the shield. She sat on her window sill, one leg sticking out as she gazed out into the Blackwater. There was a chance that Robert had not found out yet. If that was the case, she and Tommen could track down whoever had the shield, taking it back and destroying it. However, with literally no ideas of where it could be, she quickly gave up upon that idea. 

She could run. Find Aegon and flee across the Narrow Sea. He had first suggested it in Braavos, again writing to her multiple times, even saying it before the tourney began. Though it was a nice thought, she couldn't do that to her family. The Seven Kingdoms nearly tore apart when Lyanna Stark ran away, and she wouldn't let her own problems hurt other people.

She could fight her way out after they summoned her. No, she couldn't bring herself to kill the guards simply following the king's orders. Most of them had done nothing to harm her and they didn't deserve to die for her mistakes. She would put her own life at risk, too. 

She signed, watching the ships move throughout the harbor. Perhaps running away was the best answer. Still, all she could imagine was the anguish her family would go through, wondering if she was safe. 

Interrupting her thoughts, Shae entered. With her usual musical voice now flat and tense, Arya knew that it was time. She only hoped that her plan would work. 

"Wild wolf," Shae said. "The king wants to see you."

“He’s angry with me,” flatly said Arya.

Shae stepped forward and stroked her hair. “If the king is angry with you, then we’ll make you especially beautiful. You’ll wear your blue dress.”

Arya wanted to laugh at that bit of Shae logic, but the laugh got caught in her throat. She would be gone from the Red Keep, gone from King's Landing, gone from Westeros...and never see Shae again. Her handmaid seemed to sensed that, and kissed her on the forehead, wishing her luck before she left.

When she entered the great hall, she felt as if she was walking to her own death. Blank faces lined either side of the aisle, maybe three friendly ones in sight. At the end stood her family, all looking quite confused. Arya moved slowly, her heart pounding in her chest, stopping at the end where Tommen stood. Her best friend looked terrified, and Arya resisted the urge of giving his hand a squeeze. She instead shot him a reassuring look.

Robert sat high on the Iron Throne in black and gold robes, his blue eyes hardened. To Robert’s right, stood Tywin, his green eyes as impassive as ever. Arya’s eyes scanned the room, and she noticed the entire Kingsguard standing between her and the throne. The Hound stood near Joffrey and Cersei, both eagerly awaiting the events that were about to transpire.

“Do you know why you both are here?” asked Robert.

Arya resisted the urge to roll her eyes and answered, "No. But I'm sure you're going to tell us."

His face hardened at that, and for the first time, Arya realized that his face wasn't red and that he wasn't slurring his words. He wasn't drunk, cutting himself off hours before. For some reason, he wanted to stay sober for this conversation. She stopped herself from twisting her hands into her dress. 

He snapped his fingers and a steward ran forward, dropping the shield at her feet. Arya glanced down at the shield and then glanced at Tommen, his face pale white. 

Arya’s hands trembled, but she forced herself to stay calm. “You went through his room,” she said. “What kind of king looks through a prince’s chambers?”

Robert gripped the sides of the throne and roared, “You question me again, I’ll have another whipping boy brought out so we can tear out his tongue! Now explain yourself! Both of you.”

Arya glanced at Tommen before turning back to the throne. “I was injured. I thought I could scare the prince into helping me. After he finished I told him I would kill him if he ever told anyone,” she lied.

“No, she didn’t,” quickly said Tommen, reaching out and placing a hand on her arm to stop her from speaking again.. He stepped through the Kingsguard, standing directly before his father. “I knew that she was the Knight of the Laughing Tree the minute she rode onto the list field. And I helped her on my own accord. Quite frankly, father, I think you’re making this out to be a bigger deal than it is. Arya didn’t do—“

Robert shot to his feet and slapped Tommen across the face, the sound echoing throughout the room. The blow sent Tommen to the floor, where he held one hand to his reddening cheek. Arya stepped forward to help him but the Kingsguard snapped to attention.

“You are not king, and you will never be king,” snapped Robert. “You are a weak, cowardly prince. If it wasn’t for your mother, I would have sent you to the wall by now. One more comment like that, and I will.”

Tommen quickly made his way to Arya’s side, his eyes pointed to the floor. Arya felt her hands tremble with rage, and all she wanted to do was tear Robert’s head from his neck.

"You know full well that women are not allowed to ride in tourneys, especially not one like you. We are lucky that you didn't kill someone," spat out Robert.

Arya had to stop herself from answering that Brienne of Tarth competed in his brother Renly's tourney, instead staring at her feet. 

“Did you truly believe that you could get away with this? That I wouldn't find out. You would win the tourney and ride into the sunset with no consequences. It is clear that you have not had enough supervision while under my roof. Nor do you have enough common sense to keep yourself out of trouble. This came as a surprise to know one, as Gracelings like you are unable to control their urges."

And here was where Robert knew how to keep her a caged animal. He knew the words to make her feel stupid and brutish and turn her into a dog.

Well, and if she must be a dog, at least she would no longer be in this man’s cage. She would be her own, she would possess her own viciousness, and she would do what she liked with it. Even now, she felt her arms and legs beginning to tremble with readiness. She narrowed her eyes at the king.

“What is the purpose of all of these men, King Robert?” she asked, unable to keep the challenge out of her voice. 

“These men will attack you if you make the slightest move. The end of this conversation will either see you married, or in the Black Cells.”

“Married?” she asked in a false amused tone. “You've spent the last ten minutes pointing out all my faults. Who could you possibly force to marry  _a Graceling like me_?”

“Lord Tyrion,” called out Robert. “Step forward.”

She warily watched as Tyrion stepped beside her, Tommen slipping into the crowd.

“Lord Tywin has decided it is well past time you marry, Lord Tyrion. Perhaps a husband will keep you better controlled."

Both Arya and Tyrion stiffened, Tyrion stepping forward and attempting to explain, “Perhaps it will be best to hold the wedding with more preparation. The tourney isn't over and—"

“And give her a chance to escape? No, you will marry here and now.”

Arya’s tone turned icy. “You can’t force me to marry. Vows made under sword point are not held valid,” she said.

“Fine,” said Robert, waving his hand. “Bring her to the Black Cells. We’ll see how long it takes you to change your mind.”

Arya straightened her shoulders, and snatched the shield at her feet. The guards stopped in her tracks. She breathed out a thing that she now realized as hatred. She hated this king. Her body was alive with it.

“King Robert,” she said, her voice strong. “I can see that you are not a battle strategist. Let me explain what will happen the instant one of your men makes a move towards me. You didn’t assemble any archers, Graceling or otherwise, in this room. I may still be weakened from the Mountain's blows, but I have no doubt that I could kill one of the Graceless Kingsguard in a second. I’ll have the sword and dagger in my hands before anyone in the room has time to realize what’s happened."

She felt fear growing in the crowd with every word she spoke, and Tyrion took a step away from her.

"I’ll kill the meager guards you have assembled, struggling the most with your Gracelings; the Hound, the Mountain, and the Kingslayer. But they have no concept of cooperation, and will likely fight among each other before fighting me. Besides, no one here has ever seen me fight to kill before. I’ll get out of the room alive, Robert, but most of you will be dead. Of course, this is only watch will happen if I wait for one of your men to make a move. I could move first. I could hurl this shield at your head this instant.”

Robert glared, but under this he had begun to tremble. A threat of death, given and received; and Arya felt it ringing in her fingertips. And she saw that she could do it now, she could kill him right now. The disdain in his eyes would disappear, and his sneer would slide away. Her fingers itched, for she could do it now.

 _And then what?_  a small voice inside herself whispered.  _And then what?_  A bloodbath, one she’d be lucky to escape. Joffrey would become king, and his first inheritance would be the task of killing the murderer of his father. And Joffrey would punish her family as a result.

 _Where is your faith in your power?_  the voice whispered now.  _You don’t have to shed blood._  And Arya saw what she was doing, here in this throne room. She saw Robert, pale, gripping the arms of his throne so hard it seemed he might break them. In a moment he would motion to his guards to strike, out of fear, out of the terror of waiting for her to make the first move.

Tears came to her eyes. Mercy was more frightening than murder, because it was harder, and Robert didn’t deserve it.

And even though she wanted what the voice wanted, she didn’t think she had the courage for it.

 _Aegon thinks you have the courage,_  the voice said fiercely.  _Pretend that you believe he’s right. Believe him, for just a moment._

 _Pretend_. Her fingers were screaming, but maybe she could pretend long enough to get out of this room.

Arya raised burning eyes to the king. “If you had just treated me with kindness, I would have done anything you wanted me to do. Instead, you treated me like a beast. A beast that you created.”

Her eyes turned to Tywin. “And you,” she said, her voice shaking. “You are worse than him. Worse because you act as if you care for me, yet it is you who made me do these terrible things. I thought of you like a father when my own abandoned me!”

She turned to her family last, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. “Do you know why I’ve stayed in King’s Landing for so long? I thought that if I stayed and served the crown, you would one day be impressed with me, and come back. All I ever wanted was your protection. You should have protected me. You should have disobeyed his orders.”

“Arya,” softly said her father, stepping through the guards. His face looked guilt stricken. “Please. I never wanted to send you away.”

“I’m leaving the court,” she said, stepping away from her father. She looked at Robert again. “Don’t try to stop me. I promise you’ll regret it if you do. I’m no longer yours to command.”

She turned and rushed down the long aisle, her ears tuned to the silence, readying her to spin around at the first hint of a bowstring or a sword. As she passed through the great doors she felt the weight of hundreds of astonished eyes on her back; and none of them knew she had been only a breath, a twitch, away from changing her mind.

* * *

By the time she changed her clothes, grabbed her few possessions, and made her way to one of the back castle gates, Tommen was waiting. He must have sent the guards away, as he stood there alone. Arya almost wished that there was no one to see her off. A large red mark stood out on his face and Arya knew it would bruise. She avoided saying goodbye to nearly everyone. A painful lump rose in her throat when she saw him.

“So you’re finally leaving,” said Tommen.

“Are you surprised?" she asked, sticking her thumbs into her pockets. 

“Yes,” said Tommen. “I always knew you would leave. But I didn't imagine that it would be like this. Have you said goodbye to your family?”

“I'm sure they were waiting at the stables to try and stop me, but we’re not on the best of terms,” muttered Arya, looking down at her boots. 

Tommen didn’t push the issue any further. “Do you have money? Food? Maps? Where are you going?”

Arya smiled. “Don't worry about me,” she said. “I’ll be fine, Tommen. Better than I’ve been in a long time."

"My father is going to send men after you. I'll tell him that I think you're going to Yi Ti," he promised. 

"I know he is. But I'll be ready for them," she said. She reached out, pulling Tommen’s hands into her own. “Thank you. For being my only friend in this city. I'm sorry I dragged you into my mess.”

“Don't be," he answered softly. "I should have stood up to my father a long time ago. Don't worry about me, Arya. I'll be fine here. You’ll let me know how you’re faring when you can?” he asked, his tone hopeful.

“Of course,” Arya said. But they both knew it was a lie. 

He looked at his feet and cleared his throat. She wished again that he weren’t here.

“Well,” Tommen said. “I’ll see you again someday.”

She reached up for him then and wrapped her arms around his neck, and he lifted her up off the ground and hugged her tight. She buried her face into the collar of his shirt and held on. And then her feet were on the ground again. She turned away and passed under the gate. As the castle grew smaller behind her, not once did she look back.

* * *

Aegon POV

As he lay in his uncomfortable inn bed, both excited and nervous for the last day of jousting, he suddenly sensed her.  _Arya,_ he thought.  _Why is she here?_

He jumped out of bed, pulling on his boots and tossing a shirt over his head, running downstairs before she woke the sleeping inn keep at the counter. He tiptoed past, holding the bell on the door as he opened it. For the moment, he stood in the doorway of the inn, sensing her but not seeing her. But he noticed her familiar walk and exited, realizing that her long hair had been cropped to nearly her scalp and she had tied an eyepatch over one eye.

She grabbed his hand and wordlessly led him into an alleyway, pressing a finger to her lips before he could ask any questions. He only sensed determination and a bit of worry. 

Once they were deep enough into the alley, away from the prying eyes of drunks and gossips, she grinned at him. "Do you like my hair?"

Aegon laughed and ran his hand over her scalp. "I love it, You're even more beautiful," he said. "Why the sudden change?"

Arya let out a light, giddy laugh and said, "I've finally done it Aegon. I left court. King Robert has no power over me any longer. I did it without any violence or killing. I simply walked away when he tried to punish me for competing in the tourney."

Aegon stared at her for a moment, astonished by her behavior, before he scooped her off her feet, pressing a kiss to her lips. He held her for another moment and said, "I'm so proud of you, Arya. I always knew you could do it."

Arya dropped to one knee, laying _Dark Sister_ at Aegon’s feet. “What are you doing?” he asked, his throat growing dry.

Arya bowed her head. “I, Arya Stark, pledge my allegiance to you, Aegon Targaryen, sixth of his name. My sword, my Grace, and my life is yours until the end.”

“Arya,” softly said Aegon, kneeling before her. “I will not accept this. You do not have to bow for me.”

Arya raised her head, shooting him a stern look. “I know I don’t _have_ to, stupid. I _want_ to. I want to help you reclaim the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Arya—“

She held up her hand, silencing him. “I know what this entails. I’ve seen what the Lannisters and Baratheons have done to this land. I want this, Aegon. I don’t feel the need to gain the respect and love of my family any longer. You’re the only family I need.”

“Does that mean?” started Aegon, already sensing her thoughts.

“Yes,” smiled Arya. She pulled a necklace out from under her shirt, unclasping the chain to let the dragon ring fall on her hand. She guided Aegon’s hand to slide it onto her left ring finger. “I will be your Visenya.”

Aegon pulled her close, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. Arya grinned and kissed him even longer. Their sweet moment was ruined, when Arya pulled away and said, "Though I have to leave Westeros first."

He suddenly frowned and added, "Are you in danger? Is that why you've disguised yourself?"

She pursed her lips and answered, "I think it's best if I disappear for a bit. Leave so there is no chance of anyone getting hurt."

Aegon thoughtfully nodded in agreement. "I'll go get my things and notify Duck. We can send word to my uncle and travel to Dorne. They will provide protection there."

"No," softly said Arya, shaking her head. 

"What do you mean, 'no'?" questioned Aegon. "I'm coming with you, aren't I?"

"I want you to finish competing," stubbornly said Arya. 

"Arya," gently said Aegon. "Don't be ridiculous. If it's dangerous, we'll leave. It's not worth putting yourself in any danger."

"I'll leave the city and wait for you at an inn on the King's Road. You will compete, and win tomorrow. And it is worth finishing competing if you win tomorrow. They already have been comparing you to the dragonknight. If you win, defeating the terrible Baratheons and Lannisters who have been oppressing them for years, rumors will spread. You can make them spread like wildfire if you donate your winnings to the common folk. After you win, we'll go to Essos and disappear until you are ready to return."

"You've really thought this through. Perhaps you should be my hand instead of my wife," mused Aegon.

Arya shrugged and said, "I can be both, can't I?"

"I suppose you can," smiled Aegon. He suddenly sighed, shaking his head. "You really want me to do this, don't you?"

"Aye," said Arya. "I do."

"I may not win," said Aegon.

"You will. I know you will," confidently said Arya. She raised herself onto her tiptoes, kissing Aegon on the cheek. "Good luck, Aegon. I will see you after the tourney."

"Until then, Visenya," he smiled. As he watched her disappear into the night, joy swelled into his chest, as Arya had finally agreed to marry him. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had about three quarters of this chapter written when I left for school but when I got back on December 20th, I decided that I needed to change a lot. I couldn't start working on it until after New Years, but the changes took me a very long time because I haven't written any fics in a long time. I've had so many versions of this story in my head that they've all begun to mix together.
> 
> I'm not sure if this story is going in the direction I want it to, as I have been struggling, but hopefully the change of pace will get rid of my writer's block.
> 
> New chapter will probably be up in June, as I have no time to write while in college. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your kind words.


	15. The Dragonknight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aegon finishes what he started. King Robert hires someone with unorthodox tactics. Jon Snow faces the hardships of leadership.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to start by thanking everyone who supported me. I just completed my first year of college (with a bit of time in a summer study abroad program in Hong Kong for an extra bonus) and summer has officially started. Additionally, I want to thank everyone who has left kind comments about my writing. I am now considering a major in English and a career with writing because of your encouragement.

Aegon POV

"You must have gone mad. Your father will kill me, and I do mean kill me, Griff, when he learns that I agreed to travel through Westeros, with a fugitive I might add. It would be safer to go to Dorne or back to Essos. But the North! Are you insane?" ranted Duck. After speaking with Arya, Aegon had gone to Duck's room, to discuss his plans after the tourney. Duck was snoring so loudly when Aegon entered that he was forced to shake his shoulder to wake him, as his loud whispers did nothing.

"It's what she wants," simply said Aegon. "She said they'll expect her to go south or across the Narrow Sea and will be checking the southern Kingsroad and shipyards, but they will not check northern shipyards."

"If it's so dangerous, we should leave tonight while the roads are still open," said Duck. "We'll be safer with the Martells."

"She doesn't think so," said Aegon. "She believes that the north is the safest option. She's already disguised herself."

Duck sighed, rubbing his beard with the heel of his hand. "Jon is going to kill me," he muttered.

Aegon clapped his master of arms on the shoulder, grinning. "I knew you'd understand. And my father won't kill you. He'll only beat you senseless if I don't return at all. Besides, Arya will be eternally grateful that you decided to help."

"Well, I suppose it would be a good idea to get on your betrothed's good side. I still can't believe that she agreed to marry a dope like you," jested Duck.

"What can I say?" boasted Aegon, proudly sticking out his chest. "I didn't grow up to be as much of a fool like you all thought I would."

"In all seriousness, Griff, you do know that we are proud of you. All of us: Jon, Lemore, Haldon...you've grown to be a truly remarkable young man," said Duck, clasping Aegon on the shoulder.

Aegon's heart swelled with gratitude and pride. "Thank you, my friend. Truly, thank you. Now, I should go get some sleep before I compete. Wouldn't want to be falling asleep on my horse," grinned Aegon.

"Good luck tomorrow, Griff," said Duck. "Knock those Westerosi bastards off their horses. I'll speak with our Dornish friends to let them know what is going on. After you win, don't dawdle. I'll be right outside the tourney grounds with fresh horses and our packs. And please, don't get yourself killed."

Aegon grinned once again as he exited Duck's room, jesting over his shoulder, "You're the one who trained me, Duck. If I get killed, it's a result of your poor teaching." He narrowly dodged the boot Duck threw at the back of his head, shutting the door behind him. The grin on his face slowly faded as he entered his own chambers, sitting on his bed and unlacing his boots. He truly was risking his life tomorrow. It was bad enough that he was competing in the tourney. But to win would draw more attention to the mystery knight in the black armor. The small folk had already nicknamed him the Dragonknight.

Aegon thought of his father. He thought of the mistakes he made at the Tourney of Harrenhal, which many said seemed to be repeating itself. But both he and Arya agreed that they would not be the reincarnated versions of her aunt and his father. No, though they may make mistakes along the way, they would be their own; they would not repeat the same mistakes of their ancestors. Aegon pulled his boots off and unlaced his tunic, tugging it over his head and tossing it on a crumpled heap on the floor.

He supposed he was lucky that Arya would not be sitting in the crowd. He would not be able to resist naming her his Queen of Love and Beauty. He lay back on his bed, lowering his head onto his lumpy pillow. He began to plan his winning speech out for the next day, channeling the confidence of Arya.

* * *

 

Sansa POV

Sansa was irritated. Well, she told herself that she was irritated. In truth, she was seething. After silently standing in the throne room as King Robert abused Arya, Willas clutching her wrist to make sure that she didn't burst forward and kill the fool himself, Sansa found herself angrier than she had been when she found out that her father would not be accepting Joffrey's proposal (of course now she knew it was for the good, experiencing Joffrey's cruelty firsthand). As she sat in the carriage with her mother, Talisa, and Lyarra, heading towards the tourney grounds the next day, she silently stared out the window.

No one had mentioned the day before, as if her sister hadn't been forced out of the capital like some common criminal. At first, Sansa hadn't seen anything coming. She was spending time with Talisa and Lyarra, holding the babe in her lap, when a Lannister steward came to summon them to the throne room, citing urgent business from the king. She still hadn't expected anything bad to happen as she stood with her family, wondering why the king had called nearly every highborn into the great hall of the Red Keep. Only when her sister walked down the long aisle, the hall falling silent and the guards clutching their swords did Sansa realize that something was wrong.

Her sister looked tired and a bit uneasy, as if she already knew something was wrong. She calmly asked why she was summoned, seething with anger when the shield was dropped before her. Her family was absolutely shocked, as she gave no indication that it was her. Arya was the Knight of the Laughing Tree. Sansa was almost embarrassed that she didn't realize it, as she had been with her sister when she faked her illness. It was just like her to pick a knight that would infuriate Robert.

She tried to protect Tommen. She even lied, saying she forced him to assist her after she was injured by the Mountain. Tommen, thankfully, told his father the truth. Nearly everyone in the throne room winced when Robert smacked him across the face.

When Robert announced she would marry Lord Tyrion, Sansa noticed that Robb's hand twitched to where Ice normally hung. Rickon nearly stormed the throne only to be stopped by their father, who looked absolutely enraged. Sansa had only seen him this angry a handful of times before. Her mother paled to the point where Sansa thought she was about to faint. And Sansa wanted nothing more than to embrace her sister and protect her from the King's Landing monsters. Tyrion, to his credit, objected to the union but was not in a position to disagree.

Before any Stark could step forward to defend the member of their pack that they had abandoned long ago, Arya snatched the shield at her feet and spoke, her voice low and laced with venom. She explained how the king did not assemble adequate guards and how easy it would be for her to have a sword in her hand within seconds. She described in detail how she would mow through the embarrassing battalion, even how she could defeat the other three Gracelings in the room. She finished by saying how easily she could kill the king. By the end of her speech, her body trembled with righteous fury.

At that moment, Sansa wondered if they should run. She had seen her sister kill without restraint only once before, in the riots of King's Landing. It had been a bloodbath, no one escaping the edge of her sister's blade. She wondered what would happen if violence were to erupt in the throne room. But Arya surprised them all by crying. She spoke to the king first, explaining how willing she would have been to obey his orders if he had treated her with kindness. Next, she addressed Lord Tywin, asking how he could pretend to care for her when he sent her off to kill. That statement had shocked the Starks the most, as they all hated the Lannsiters.

Last, she addressed their father. Tears running down her face, her sister said she had waited to run for so long, hoping that her family would come back to her. She then announced that she was leaving court for good and fled the throne room. Sansa, Robb, and Rickon had waited at the stables for her while her mother and father went to her chambers. But no one had seen her since. Tommen mentioned to Sansa that she made it safely out of the castle on foot, choosing to leave behind her sand steed to avoid suspicion. Sansa's parents were distraught, even irate with the king; they wanted to leave the capital that night, but Robert commanded them to stay for the end of the tourney.

Sansa was angry with everyone: the king (and queen and prince) for treating her so terribly, her parents for not stepping in sooner, the rest of the nobles in the court for allowing the mistreatment to go on. But most of all, Sansa was angry with herself. She had seen what had gone on a long time before, yet she had never stepped in to help her sister. No wonder she felt as if she had no one to trust.

She let out a long sigh through her nose, staring out the window.

"Sansa," a soft voice called out. Sansa finally glanced back into the carriage to see her good-sister staring at her. "Are you alright?"

Sansa didn't even have it in her heart to lie and smile like a good lady would. Suspending all courtesies, she spat out, "I shouldn't be going to this stupid tourney. We shouldn't be going to this tourney, mother. After what the king did to Arya, we should have all left the capital. Now we're going to watch some idiot win."

Her mother sighed in return, Sansa noticing the dark bags underneath her eyes. "Your father sent out half his guard looking for her. They'll find her and—"

"She's gone, mother!" snapped Sansa. "Gone! Do you realize the amount of abuse she's endured over the past eight years? If she left, she left for good. She'll go across the Narrow Sea and never return. She had no reason to. And if she does return, the gods won't even save those who hurt her."

"Sansa," gently said her mother, trying to take a hold of her hand. "Please, try and keep an open mind. She can't have gone far."

Sansa ripped it out of her grasp and glared. "So what if they do find her? Do any of you believe she'll ever set foot in the capital again willingly? We should have helped her. You and father should have put a stop to this a long time ago!"

 _I should have helped her_ , Sansa left unsaid.

Catelyn tensed at Sansa's words, glancing down at her hands, and said, "You're right. You're right, Sansa. We failed her. But it's too late now."

Talisa finally spoke, gently rocking Lyarra in her arms. "Today may not be all bad," she said.

Sansa raised an eyebrow and asked, "What do you mean?"

Talisa smiled softly. "The tourney isn't over yet. There may only be Lannister guards and Baratheons left, but there is still one mystery knight. You do know what they're calling him, don't you? The Dragonknight." Talisa's mouth curled into a grin. "Perhaps we'll see a dragon, something Robert hates most in this world, knock the rest of the participants into the dirt. Just be careful; you don't want to cheer too loud when Lady Margaery's husband is humiliated. After all, you are a Tyrell now."

Catelyn and Sansa both stared at Talisa in shock as she placed a soft kiss on her daughter's forehead, wondering if she had always been this sly.

* * *

 

Aegon POV

To distract himself, Aegon tried to think back to the last time he was this nervous. Maybe it was the time when his first tooth was quite loose and Duck insisted upon tying a string around it to yank it out. Aegon had shimmied up to the mast of the ship and only came down when the tooth came out by biting into a piece of stale bread he had shoved into his pocket before his hasty escape. Or, maybe it was the month where his Grace became much stronger, allowing him to hear others thoughts for the first time. He thought he was going insane, sleeping entire days to stop the voices in his head. Eventually, Haldon realized that his Grace was manifesting (as was common at the start of puberty) and the inhabitants of the Shy Maid were able to help him through it. Or, maybe it was the first time he entered Westeros. When their ship landed at the docks of Dorne, his cousins and uncles assured him that he would be safe but even with their reassurances, he didn't get a wink of sleep that night. He thought the usurper's soldiers would burst into his room and kill him for being dragonspawn.

But this moment while risking everything he had ever worked for to impress the girl that he loved, he had never felt this terrified before. His hands were sweating underneath their armor and he could barely keep them steady. Though Duck was only a quarter of a mile away to help him change his horse and clothes when it was time to leave (or rather make a quick escape) and his uncle was in the crowd, Arya was not present. Throughout all of his jousting, Arya had either been in the crowd or on the list field herself. He knew that in the rare event of King Robert figuring out his true identity and attempting to arrest or kill him, she would be there to protect him. But since they both believed it was too risky for her to appear in the crowd even in disguise, he was on his own.

He checked to make sure all of his armor was secure, took a deep breath, and pulled himself onto his horse. He paid a different Fleabottom boy everyday to pose as his squire. This one was a scrawny blonde boy with a scarred back, an effect of one of the religious Seven homes he had been forced into. Aegon mentally went through the names of those who remained in the tourney. First and foremost, there was Prince Joffrey. Though Arya had defeated him early on, he had been reinstated in the lists due to her illegal entry. Aegon knew the prince would make it to the final joust (and probably win if Aegon wasn't there) because no man dared defeat him again. Second, there was the Hound. Arya had given him her place in the tourney in gratitude. Aegon had never seen the man fight, but judging on what he heard from Arya about his fighting Grace, he would have a difficult time knocking him off his horse. That is, if the Hound actually showed up. Arya warned him that there was a chance the man would think the whole thing was ridiculous and not bother jousting at all. Third, there was Barristan Selmy. Jon had often praised the knight, pointing out that he was the only one with honor left. But without a Grace, he wouldn't give Aegon much trouble. There would be two more eliminating rounds and one final round.

He heard cheers from the crowd and realized the royal family must have arrived at the dais. He tapped his heels into his horse and walked out onto the edge of the list field, standing next to Selmy. He stole a glance at the old knight who shot him a nod, Aegon wondering what he thought of his father. The Hound sat on his horse silently, most likely hoping the entire tourney would end soon. The Prince was the last to a arrive, greeted by less cheering than the royal family, Aegon noted. Still, he smugly waved at the crowd as if he believed he was a god. Robert Baratheon struggled to stand from his seat, hatred burning through Aegon was soon as he laid eyes on the false king. Aegon hated him from what he did to his father, but he was more angry at what he did to Arya. Humiliating her, abusing her for years, threatening to lock her away when she didn't agree to a forced marriage to a man twice her age...the king deserved to die, but today Aegon would only humiliate him.

He glanced into the crowd, noting who was still present. As far away from the king as possible without being rude sat the entire Stark family, looking as if they'd rather be anywhere else. The youngest, Rickon, looked particularly angry and had booed when Joffrey entered the list field. He was silenced with a sharp glance by Ned Stark. The Stark patriarch looked exhausted, as did Catelyn Stark. Aegon didn't need his Grace to see that she was heartbroken. Robb Stark held his son on his lap while his wife Talisa held their babe in their arms. Aegon had heard he planned to lead the search for Arya before King Robert forbid it. Sansa sat between her brother Robb and her husband Willas, shooting a look of disdain at the Lannisters and the king every so often. Arya spoke fondly of her family in some moments, and quite angrily in others. If she had the ability to spend time with them and mend her anger, Aegon believed that she would forgive them. But there was a chance she would never see them again.

He took a deep breath as he watched a steward reach into the bowl where their names were written on slips of paper, focusing his nerves and anger onto his jousting. "Prince Joffrey and Sandor Clegane!" Aegon tensed at the surname Clegane, thinking of how the Hound's brother murdered his mother and sister and believed to have smashed himself against the wall.

 _Good_ , thought Aegon. _The Hound will make sure that he loses, sending Joffrey to the final round. If I can get past Selmy, I'll have no problems with the prince._

The joust began with the prince shouting insults at the Hound with a cocky grin on his face. Aegon didn't need his perception Grace to know that the Hound wanted nothing more than to knock him off his horse. After he had his fill, he lowered the helm of his visor and the joust began. Joffrey's lance barely touched the Hound's shield before the man eased himself off his horse, landing in the dirt with a hard thud. Joffrey raised his fist triumphantly, shouting one more dig at his bodyguard who lay in the dirt. He rode over to his wife and future the queen, Margaery Tyrell, handing her a rose and promising her the crown of blue winter roses.

Soon enough, it was Aegon's turn to joust. His stomach flipped as he took his place at the opposite end of the list field. Barristan wore his shining white armor of the Kingsguard, eyeing Aegon from the end of the field. Hearing the man's thoughts and filtering out the others from the crowd, Aegon heard how quickly and easily he was able to size him up, even establishing weak points in Aegon's stance. Aegon quickly adjusted what the man had thought about his stance when he heard the thought, _He looks like the ghost of Rhaegar._

Aegon was taken aback. He had heard the thought constantly from Jon and his adoptive father had even voiced it before, often with sadness in his voice. But to hear the greatest knight in the realm, a man who served his father and knew him well, compare him to the man he never had a chance to meet, Aegon was almost overcome by emotion. But the moment couldn't last long because Aegon's hired squire handed him his lance and shield and the tilt began. Selmy rode furiously for a man his age, his first blow nearly taking Aegon off his horse. Aegon managed to grab the mane and steady himself, realizing that Selmy thought about where he would place his lance only at the last second. Impressed, Aegon realized he would have to be a lot more careful with this joust than he thought.

Aegon focused, using his Grace to perceive any of Barristan's movements. The tilt began and again, Barristan barreled towards him at top speed. This time, both their lances glanced off each other's shields, doing no damage. The crowd began to shuffle a bit more, growing impatient with the slow match. On the third tilt, Aegon made a mistake. His shield was angled slightly in the wrong direction. Barristan's lance hit his shield dead center while his own missed its mark. The blow should have sent him off his horse, but the wood was weak. It fractured, sending splinters flying everywhere. One particularly large piece got stuck in Aegon's eye slot, only inches from his eye. He attempted to pull out the piece of wood but realized he couldn't, shouting orders to his squire to bring him a new helm.

Barristan, it seemed, was already on it, grabbing a spare helm from his own squire and riding towards Aegon. In an act of chivalry Aegon had never seen, Barristan offered it to him. Aegon hesitated for a moment, not wanting to reveal his face, but realizing that it was more suspicious not to. He pulled off the damaged helm, shook out his blue hair, and attempted to put on the helm before Barristan could see. However, the knight, ever perceptive, looked right into his own eyes as he raised the helm over his head.

He didn't have to sense Barristan's feelings or hear his thoughts because the man literally gasped. Aegon shoved the helm on his head and muttered out his thanks. Barristan, still shocked, managed to whisper, "Your grace?"

"Ser Barristan, I—" Aegon began, only to be interrupted by King Robert.

"We don't have all fucking day!" the king roared, standing from his seat only to slump back down once he got the words out.

Aegon took this opportunity to ride away, hearing Barristan's barrage of thoughts the entire time. _Rhaegar_ , the man thought. _That was Rhaegar in the flesh. I would never forget those eyes._

Aegon gritted his teeth and told himself to tune it out, only focusing on finishing the match. When the fourth tilt began, it seemed that Barristan was too distracted to focus on his movements. Aegon's lance hit its mark while Barristan's only glanced off, sending the white knight tumbling to the ground. The crowd cheered with excitement while some gasped in dismay, as Barristan the Bold was always a favorite. Aegon quickly rode to the man and dismounted his horse, helping him from the ground.

Barristan grabbed him tightly and whispered, "Who are you?"

Aegon's eyes flickered behind his helm before he answered, "Not here. Not now."

Selmy looked like he wanted to speak again before the king summoned him before the dais. The man gave one last reluctant glance towards Aegon before striding to the king, meeting him at once. He kneeled, as was expected, rising to his feet once the king raised his hand.

"You've served the realm well, Ser Barristan, and honorably. Every man and woman in the Seven Kingdoms owes you their thanks. But," the king began, Aegon noticing his eyes flitting towards his wife Cersei Lannister, who sat beside him with a smug grin, "It is time you lay down your sword and armor. You will be given a stout keep beside the sea and servants to look after you."

Barristan looked absolutely shocked. "Your...your grace," he stammered. "The Kingsguard is a lifelong position. My vows—"

Cersei Lannister smoothly interrupted, saying, "You deserve to rest, Ser Barristan. You've served on the Kingsguard for three kings." Murmurs began to form in the crowd as both nobles and peasants alike wondered what was happening. Selmy had served on the Kingsguard honorably for nearly forty years and was being forced out for some unknown reason. "Your age has made slower and weaker. Someone new will take your place."

She sweetly glanced at her husband, who seemed tired and defeated. "Ser Jaime Lannister will become the new commander of the Kingsguard."

 _So it's a Lannister takeover,_ thought Aegon as he glanced at the hand sitting to the right of the king. Tywin Lannister, the man that ordered the execution of his mother and sister (and himself), as an imposing figure with calculating green eyes. He seemed quite pleased with the situation; with the only honorable knight left off the Kingsguard, Tywin could tighten his control on the Realm.

Barristan scoffed. "A man who profaned his blade with the blood of the king he swore to defend," he said, glaring at Jaime. "I am a knight. I shall not die some fat, perfumed lord. I will die a knight." He punctuated each word by unclipping some of his armor, throwing his white cloak, helm, gauntlets, and gloves on the ground.

"A naked knight, apparently!" gleefully shouted Littlefinger from the stands.

By now Aegon had uncomfortably retreated to the far end of the field. He wanted to help but knew Barristan was better off on his own.

Barristan practically growled, pulling out his sword. The crowd grew deadly silent as the other members of the Kingsguard pulled out their blades. Selmy almost laughed, saying, "Have no fear, sers, your king is safe... no thanks to you. Even now, I could cut through the five of you as easy as a dagger cuts cheese. If you would serve under the Kingslayer, not one of you is fit to wear the white." He tossed his sword on the ground, glaring at King Robert. "Here, fool. Melt it down and add it to the others. It will do you more good there than in your hand."

Robert waved down his guards and allowed the man to walk off unharmed, something Aegon was grateful for. He would have felt as if he had to step in if things had turned violent. He glanced towards the crowd, noticing looks of shock, disgust, and disappointment. Barristan Selmy's name meant something in the Seven Kingdoms and Robert had just disgraced it.

"Finish the damn joust!" shouted the red-faced king. Aegon could hear his thoughts filled with hatred. Robert truly believed that Aegon was the better jouster (as did everyone in the crowd) but that Aegon would let Joffrey simply because he was the crowned prince. He thought that his example of Arya had been enough to discourage people. Aegon, in truth, wanted to use his lance to kill the prince after everything he had done to Arya. But she had solved her problems without violence and so would he.

He took a deep breath once again, clearing his mind and blocking out most of the thoughts he was receiving from the crowd. He only allowed Joffrey's thoughts to flow into his mind, as the smug prince thought how easy the joust would be. Aegon was surprised to find that the prince truly believed he was the better jouster, proving that he truly was a pompous, self-obsessed idiot with a penchant for violence. Aegon's squire ran over and handed him a fresh lance. Aegon was sure it would be the only one he needed.

Aegon almost laughed at how cliche their joust was; Joffrey wore the golden armor of a prince and sat atop a white while Aegon, the mysterious and dangerous mystery knight, wore all black armor and rode a black stallion. Though Aegon seemed like a villain, it was Joffrey with the black soul. He adjusted his shield on his arm, squared his shoulders, and sent his horse into a gallop when the signal was sent. The joust was over seconds before it began. Joffrey, both an inexperienced rider and warrior, wobbled on his horse as he rode. Aegon's lance landed dead center on Joffrey's breastplate, knocking the wind out of him and sending him flying off his horse. Joffrey's lance didn't even come close to Aegon and he finished riding past his unhorsed opponent, turning his horse only once he heard the cheers of the crowd.

He waved to the crowd and smiled beneath his helm, ignoring the sputtering and cursing prince in the center of the list field, who now strode up to his parents and was shouting obscenities at them. The Lannisters, Baratheons, and Tyrells in the crowd looked a bit angry and disappointed, while the Starks had perked up a bit and the Martells were cheering as loudly as they could. A child, most likely a Lannister servant, ran to him and handed him the crown of blue winter roses for the queen of love and beauty. The king, deciding that his son had humiliated himself enough for the day, ordered the Hound to take him away. He ordered Aegon over and the crowd once again grew quiet.

"So, mystery knight, you have defeated my son and now are the champion of the tourney of King's Landing. Your winnings of forty thousand golden dragons" he began, snapping his fingers so servants ran over with a gigantic chest filled with gold "Are yours to keep. Unhelm yourself and tell us who you are." Aegon ignored his request, instead taking a deep breath and reciting what Arya told him to.

"I, the Dragonknight, will not take my winnings nor will unmask myself. Half my winnings will go to the orphanage the Sister's Shelter, and the other half will be distributed to each household in Fleabottom." Arya had told Aegon that the Sister's Shelter was the only uncorrupted orphanage in the city. To distribute the dragons to each household, he asked for the help of Oberyn who offered him some of his most trusted men. The group of eight men left the crowd and took the chest to begin their work. While the crowd cheered in thanks and support, the king only grew more red-faced.

"I cannot name my queen of love and beauty because she is not present. But Lady Arya Stark will wear the crown of winter roses. She deserved to win this tourney before she was unfairly persecuted for her actions. She deserves recognition for her actions. She was the true victor of this tournament. Arya deserved more than you ever gave her. You are all lucky that she is a better and stronger person than you will ever be."

With those words settling over the shell-shocked crowd, Aegon quickly sent his horse in a gallop to flee the tourney, find Arya, and leave this mess behind them. __

* * *

Ramsay POV

Though his father may disagree, Ramsay was nothing but patient. He had waited until his half-brother sought him out instead of hunting him down and tearing out his heart like he wanted to. When Domeric finally came to meet him, Ramsay was sure to kill him patiently, using a vial instead of his flaying knife. That way his father would know, but could never prove it. Ramsay had waited until his father trusted him enough to know that he wouldn't get caught with his hunting habits to begin releasing girls into the forests around the castle. Ramsay had waited (and was still waiting) to make his move on Theon Greyjoy. He had first befriended him, and now simply needed to remove him from Robb Stark's side before he could begin his work on replacing Reek. He pegged Theon from the moment he met him as a selfish boy who desired a strong figure to follow. Once he was done with his work in King's Landing, he would finish Theon. And Ramsay had watched Lady Arya patiently, wondering when he would finally have the chance to have some fun with her. It seemed that the moment was finally presenting itself, as King Robert had requested a private audience with him.

He was so excited at the prospect of what lay ahead that he had to calm himself before following the steward into the king's chambers.

"Your grace," the timid man began, practically cowering at the sight of the fat king who sat in an armchair before a burning fire.

"I said I wanted to be left alone, dammit!" snarled Robert, hurling a full pitcher of wine at the man who yelped and dodged it.

"Lord Ramsay Snow is here as you requested!" quickly exclaimed the man, trembling near the door.

Robert grunted and simply waved the man away. Ramsay took that as a sign to move before the king, kneeling before the fireplace. "I am your humble servant, your grace. I am here to do anything—"

His face hardening, Robert interrupted. "I don't know if the rumors about you are true, and I don't care to know the details. I hear you are the best hunter in the Seven Kingdoms. I need you to track someone and bring them to me. I've arranged the details with Lord Stark; you are no longer under his watch."

Ramsay tried to hide his glee. "Who do you want me to find, your grace?"

"Arya Stark," said King Robert with a grimace. "I will not allow her to leave my court like that. I want her brought back here, alive."

Ramsay was a bit disappointed, but tried his luck by asking, "Alive and unharmed?"

With Robert's face filled with flickering shadows from the fire, Ramsay was almost positive that the man looked evil. "I want her back here, in chains, with all of her limbs and appendages intact. But, as I already I said...I don't care for the details. What you do with her is none of my business as long as she is brought back. Do you understand?"

"Yes, your grace," said Ramsay, finally rising.

"Good," grunted Robert. "In exchange for your services, you will be fully legitimized. Upon your return, you will be known as Ramsay Bolton."

"Thank you, your grace," practically babbled Ramsay. "You will not be disappointed."

Perhaps Ramsay's patience would finally pay off. He was now legally given the chance to hunt a member of a family he despised, a woman that was the most magnificent creature on the planet. With a Grace like hers, perhaps a hunt would finally challenge him; the best hunter in the world confronting the most dangerous killer in the world. And for his efforts, he would finally become a Bolton. Yes, patience was truly a virtue.

* * *

 

Jon POV

Jon sat in his chambers, reading and replying to ravens from across the Seven Kingdoms. Since he had become Lord Commander, it seemed he was in charge of more administrative tasks than anything else. Finding men, finding funds, finding supplies; all of these tasks were up to him. Of course, since had allowed a score of wildlings through the Wall, his job had become much harder. Now he needed to find a way to house, feed, and solve disputes with two groups of people who hadn't gotten along for hundreds of years. So much so, that the southerners built a wall to separate them. But with so many wildlings starving to death due to food shortages, Jon had to do something He allowed the tamer groups through, hoping he could speak to his father to come up with a solution to where they could live.

But of course, his father had been gone for two months due to Sansa's wedding, as Bran had written. They had traveled to King's Landing and were expected to be back quite soon. But since those two months, tensions had been rising between Northerners, brothers of the Night's Watch, and the wilding visitors. Every time Jon wondered if he had made a mistake, the faces of the starving wildling children flashed through his mind.

It was moments like this he wished he could go back to his childhood. He wished he could go back to a time he and Robb would ambush Bran, Arya, and Baby Rickon with snowballs, only for Sansa to get caught in the middle and somehow, the younger three managing to always defeat them. He wished he wasn't Lord Commander and he could request a short leave for Sansa's wedding in order to see Arya.

Jon had heard tales of his little sister from recruits of the Night's Watch. Most spoke no praise for her. Some pitied her cursed Grace, while some sported freshly broken bones or missing fingers as a result of her hand. Jon couldn't believe it the first time he heard it and nearly caused a brother to choke on his own teeth when he insulted his sister once too often. But Lord Commander Mormont had pulled him aside and explained exactly what Gracelings like her were used for down south. It made Jon's blood boil, and that night he rode for King's Landing, only to be stopped and have the sense knocked into him by Sam, Grenn, Edd, and Pyp, his closest four brothers. Jon leaned back in his chair and sighed, pinching his the bridge of his nose. Thinking of Arya always hurt him, as deep down inside, he blamed himself for not doing more to protect her.

The door flew open, distracting him from his thoughts. Olly, the farm boy he had rescued from wildling invaders, burst into his study and said, "Lord Commander. It's one of the wildlings you brought back. He says he knows your Uncle Benjen. He says he can find him."

Jon jumped to his feet, placing both hands on the table to brace himself. "Are you sure he's talking about Benjen?" he carefully asked, his head spinning as he was filled with hope, confusion, and a bit of uneasiness all at once.

Olly quickly nodded. "He says he was first ranger."

That was all Jon needed to hear. He strode past the boy and down the narrow ramparts of Castle Black, meeting Ser Alliser Thorne at the bottom of the stairs. Jon pulled on a pair of gloves, as he didn't think to grab a cloak to protect him from the biting cold as he listened to Thorne speak. He despised the man that often tried to ensure his failure but at this moment, he couldn't care less. He only wanted to find his uncle. "Man says he saw your uncle the last full moon."

"Could be lying," answered Jon as the two quickly walked towards a group of men crowded in the corner of the courtyard.

"Could be," agreed Thorne. "We'll soon find out. He's through there."

Jon pushed through the crowd of men, finding nothing but a grave staked into the ground. His confusion turned into dread and then finally into fear when he read the word TRAITOR etched onto the wood. His mouth grew dry and he felt as if his heart was ripped out of his chest. He slowly turned to face his brothers and was met with the sharp end of Alliser Thorne's dagger.

The man looked him straight into his eyes and said, "For the watch." His voice was completely devoid of emotion.

Over and over again, his supposed brothers stabbed him, muttering the same damned phrase.

Jon finally fell to his knees, looking up at his betrayers. The last one walked forward, Jon managing to whisper, "Olly." He had cared for the boy like a brother and he had even saved Jon's life, yet here he stood, ready to murder him.

Olly took one step forward, then two, then three tears falling from his eyes. He wiped them away with his sleeve before he said in a determined voice, "For the watch."

His cold steel dug into his heart more than anyone else's. Olly pulled the dagger dropping it to the ground, the betrayers receding. Jon finally fell back into the snow. “Ghost,” he whispered. Pain washed over him. _Stick them with the pointy end._ Finally, he felt no more pain. Only the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when the next one will be up. I am planning to start my own fictional stories this summer and want to spend some time on those. But don't worry! This fic will NEVER be abandoned.


	16. The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more friendly face joins Arya, Aegon, and Duck in their escape from King's Landing. Their luck doesn't last for long, as Ramsay Snow is hot on their trail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! I was gonna post a 10,000 word monster chapter but decided to split so I could finish the next part within the week. Also, I've finally started my own original story. Don't know where it will lead but I wouldn't be here without your support! Thanks everyone

Arya wondered if she had made a mistake when pressuring Aegon to enter the tourney. After telling him that she had to leave the city, she didn't need his perception Grace to know that he was slightly disappointed that he could no longer compete. Still, she knew he would do anything for her so he assumed they would be leaving right at that moment. Arya had to push him to continue to compete, as he truly believed he was putting her in danger by forcing her to stay longer in the King's Landing area when she should have left on a ship. It didn't take much persuasion to convince him to stay, as he was truly giddy at the prospect of winning a tourney. But, as time passed, Arya grew more and more worried, wondering if Robert had snapped quicker than she thought simply because Aegon bore the name, the Dragonknight. 

She waited the woods a half a day's ride from the capital north on the King's Road, right outside of Hayford Castle. She wanted Aegon to find her soon so they could cover a lot of ground before it got dark. Even then, Arya believed they would have to ride through the night in order to put enough distance between them and the city. Arya was sure that Robert had already blocked all of the ports and that he had sent his men after her. Though she was sure they would go south first, it was only a matter of time before they went north. She paced next to her tent, running her fingers through her short hair. It was strange not to feel the locks brushing against the back of her neck and the first night sleeping like that she had felt cold. However, she had already gotten used to it and she enjoyed how easy it was to control. 

She disguised herself well. She had exchanged her well sewn castle clothes with some she had found on a clothesline outside a farmhouse, making sure they looked well worn. She also tied an eyepatch around her gold eye, hoping no one would ask too many questions about her supposed injury. When they got to the Riverlands, she would take it off. At least there she would be a bit less recognizable. She paused suddenly, hearing two sets of hoofbeats approaching her makeshift camp. She quickly scaled a tree close by and crouched in the bushes, making sure to be careful to see who it was before she approached them.

She felt immense relief and grinned when she saw Aegon's blue hair from the distance, swinging down from the branches to greet him. Duck rode a few feet behind, looking quite anxious to get moving. Both dismounted, and Arya flew into Aegon's arms. 

"So," she smiled up at him. "Did my favor work?"

Aegon grinned and grabbed a wrapped package from his saddle bag. He still wore a black shirt and pants but had packed away his armor, as he now had to travel in disguise. He dropped to one knee as he unwrapped the package, dramatically announcing, "Arya Stark, I will name you my Queen of Love and Beauty!" He bowed his head and held the crown of blue winter roses up to her. 

Arya, taking the tone of a poised lady, "I thank you, ser, for your gallant gesture. I accept your offer." 

Aegon rose to his feet and gently placed the crown upon her cropped locks. "A crown fit for the future queen of Westeros." 

Arya rolled her eyes and shoved Aegon slightly. "I'm very proud of you," she said, rising to her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "You deserve this, Aegon. Did you run into any trouble on the tourney grounds."

Duck, who had already began to pack Arya's camp and load supplies on her horse, answered, "This fool decide to donate all of his winnings and then announce that you deserved to be the champion of the tourney. If you weren't allowed to compete, then you deserved the crown. He then also called out every noble in the crowd for treating you the way that you did." Duck emphasized each word with shoving another item into a bag. 

"Aegon, you shouldn't have done that," softly said Arya. "Now they'll know that we're connected in some way. It could put you in more danger." She had meant for her tone to sound scolding, but she only sounded thankful. 

"I don't care," stubbornly said Aegon. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. "It had to be said."

Arya rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her small smile, muttering, "stupid," under her breath. 

Duck had finally finished packing the camp and whistled at them, shouting, "Oi, you two! Let's get a move on. The sooner we get out of here, the safer we'll be."

As Aegon was about to shout out a playful retort, Arya watched the smile drop from his face as every muscle in his body grew tense. "Someone is approaching," he growled, protectively glancing at Arya. "You need to get out of here."

"No," firmly said Arya. "I'm not leaving you."

Aegon looked torn for a moment until Duck suggested, "Just get out of sight then. Aegon and I will have an easier time explaining ourselves. Go now."

Arya hesitated then finally agreed to move deeper into the woods just beyond the camp. The view wasn't the clearest but she could make out what the two were saying. She watched as a man dressed in simple clothes approached. He wore a cloak with a hood, shrouding his face from her view. 

"It was too easy to find you," the man said. With those words, Arya placed her hand on _Dark Sister_ 's hilt, ready to strike. She then realized the man's tone was not at all threatening, only observant. He sounded oddly familiar. "You need to be more careful."

"Why are you following me?" Aegon sharply asked. Both he and Duck had their hands on the hilts of their swords.

The man lowered his hood, and Arya gasped. Ser Barristan Selmy stood before Aegon, his face full of sadness. Arya immediately felt fear, wondering if he was going to turn Aegon in. Though he was an honorable knight, he was still loyal to the king. "Because I need to know who you are and why you resemble him so closely." 

Aegon sighed and rubbed his face. "Arya," he called out. "You can come out now."

"Griff!" snapped, Duck. "We shouldn't tell him anything."

"He can be trusted," insisted Aegon. 

"Arya?" Ser Barristan asked in a confused tone. "You don't mean..."

Arya made her way into the clearing, shooting the knight a small smile. She laced her fingers with Aegon's and said, "Hello, Ser Barristan. Why are you here?"

Ser Barristan paled and kept looking between the two, his eyes finding the blue crown of winter roses on her head. "I...King Robert released me from my service," he finally scowled. "Said I was too old to serve the realm. He spoke, but it was the queen's words coming out of his mouth. I jousted with the Dragonknight, and I caught a glimpse of his face when his helm was damaged. You're the spitting image of Aegon. And you, of Lady Lyanna, my lady. Seeing the two of you together..." The knight trailed off, shaking his head.

"Who are you?" he finally demanded of Aegon. 

Aegon sighed and Arya gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. Arya trusted the man. He had honor, and there was no way he would go back to a king who so callously dismissed his years of service. 

Aegon finally looked down at his feet and answered. "I never died in King's Landing. The Spider is a true Targaryen loyalist and he switched me out with a fair-haired babe with light Graceling eyes. Growing up, I heard stories of how faithfully you served my family. I am glad to have finally met you. My name is Aegon Targaryen the sixth. I am the true heir to the Iron Throne."

Ser Barristan paled as Aegon spoke, almost to the point where Arya thought she should steady his arm. "It...it can't be. Why have you come back to this place?"

"I would not lie to you, ser. Jon Connington has raised me. He is back in Pentos. I have been in Westeros with my Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Rolly Duckfield, to meet with loyalist lords in preparation for the future. I came to King's Landing for her," Aegon turned to Arya, her eyes filled with love and adoration. "I couldn't stand the fact that there would be a tourney going on and Arya wouldn't be named the Queen and Love and Beauty. Since she will be my queen in the future, I decided I would compete and win the crown for her. Of course, if she had been allowed to finish, I have a feeling that I would be wearing the crown." 

At Ser Barristan's confused glance, Arya explained, "We met years ago when I was in Braavos for six months. The Spider has helped keep us in touch ever since and we even got to see each other in person once when the king sent me away to kill someone. Aegon was the only person to ever tell me to defy the king and that I wasn't the monster everyone made me out to be."

Ser Barristan furrowed his brows and shook his head. "I can't imagine that this could be possible but, I believe you. You have your father's eyes. Rhaegar was a good man. I want you to know that, your grace." 

"Your grace?" began Aegon, slightly confused. His eyes widened as Ser Barristan knelt, laying his sword at his feet. 

"I offer my services King Aegon Targaryen. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."

Aegon swallowed and responded, "And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. Arise." Aegon stepped forward and eagerly shook the man's hand. "I am truly honored, Ser Barristan. You are a faithful knight of the Golden Age of Heroes."

Ser Barristan looked slightly uncomfortable with the compliments but simply nodded. "And I am honored to serve a good man."

"As touching as this moment is," interjected Duck "we should be getting going. I'm sure the king has already sent men after Arya." 

Ser Barristan nodded in agreement. "As of last night, he had sent fifteen of his men to every major port south of the neck. They'll be along the Kingsroad, too. You did well to disguise yourself but they will be checking ports."

"We've already decided to go to a northern port. Probably White Harbor. I don't think they'll expect me to go that way," answered Arya.

"Before we go, you need to cut your hair," decisively said Ser Barristan. "When your helm fell off, everyone caught a glimpse of the blue. I don't believe that the king will focus on finding you, but you never know. To be on the safer side, it needs to go."

Aegon nodded in agreement. "Duck, will you get my shaving supplies? I think there is a stream this way." Duck grabbed the things and the two left to get rid of Aegon's hair. 

"I'm sorry to hear what happened to you," said Arya to Ser Barristan. She had always respected the man and he didn't deserve to be discarded the way he described. "The realm is losing a true hero." 

"You shouldn't be calling me that," said Ser Barristan, lowering his eyes. "I am ashamed for allowing you to be treated the way that you were for so long. Knights are supposed to defend the vulnerable and I did no such thing. I should have stepped in a long time ago. For that, my lady, I am truly sorry. Don't ever believe that you are a bad person for doing the things that you did. You were just trying to survive."

Arya stayed silent throughout his speech, her heart clenching. Ser Barristan saw her surprised face and continued, "I understand that you may be angry and I deserve nothing from you. If you could find it in your heart to forgive me, I would be eternally grateful. But please know, Lady Arya, that I believe you are a good person who—"

Arya suddenly cut him off, flinging herself at him and to wrap him in a hug. She felt tears pricking at her eyes and said in a hoarse tone, "I forgive you, Ser Barristan. Thank you for saying those things. You were always good to me. Please, just don't call me 'my lady' again."

"I will try not to," the old knight laughed. She released him, shooting him a small smile. He smiled back, the lines around his eyes crinkling. Arya had supposed that he used to smile often but in her time at King's Landing, she never got to see it. He was always a solemn man who took his duty seriously. She had always suspected it but now, however, she was learning first hand that he had a kind heart. 

Ser Barristan's eyes widened as he looked over her head and she quickly turned, covering her mouth as she let out a loud chortle. Aegon stood there, shoulders hunched and a scowl on his face. His blue hair and blue eyebrows where completely gone, shaved off to the fullest extent. His bald head shone in the sun and for as handsome as he was, Arya thought he looked terrible. She tried to choke out a compliment but instead ended up cackling.

"Haha, keep laughing, Stark. I'll shave off what you have left in your sleep," Aegon threatened, taking a step towards her. Even the stressed Duck and Ser Barristan now looked quite amused, glancing at their king's head. 

"You better hope you don't go bald when you grow older. The thieves will grab at your skull for your crown only to realize that the shine comes from the lack of hair, not from the gold," Arya grinned and teased. 

"That's it!" exclaimed Aegon, rushing towards her. "I'm going to dunk you into the stream!' Arya shrieked and dodged his arms, giggling as she danced away from him. 

"As adorable as this moment is," interrupted Duck, shooting them annoyed looks, "we need to get going."

"He's right," added Ser Barristan. "We should ride through the night to make sure that we avoid the king's men. 

Aegon finally caught up to Arya, wrapping his arms around her. Instead of dunking her like he promised, he simply placed a kiss on her forehead. "Well," he began, "let's get going. I want us out of Westeros as soon as possible. I assume that we will be riding to White Harbor?"

"Yes, your grace," answered Ser Barristan. 

Aegon helped Arya onto her horse and she mounted her own. She glanced towards their group, almost laughing at its dysfunctional and strange mix. First, there was the exiled Targaryen prince who had trained his entire life for the ability to rule. Instead of ruling, however, he had run halfway around the world to meet and fall in love with a potential enemy of the throne. His blue locks gone, he now was bald with denigrated clothing. Still, his expensive Valyrian steel sword hung on his hip. Second, there was Arya, a treasonous criminal as was decreed by the king. She had cut her hair short to her head and often tagged a rag around her eye to hide her appearance. She had served the throne as a killer thug her entire life yet now Aegon intended to marry her and make her queen. Third, there was Ser Barristan, a recent knight forced into retirement. Instead of accepting it quietly, he had decided to help start a rebellion by supporting Aegon, a prince he thought had been long dead. Last, there was Duck, a man who had left Westeros a long time ago after breaking the hand of an egotistical lord. Duck now served and trained a prince, rising far above his station. 

"Well, let's get going," cheerfully said Aegon. The four took off and though Arya had just lost her family, she felt as if she had gained a new one. 

* * *

Two and a half weeks had passed since the group had left the Stormlands to head north; they had made good time and were only a few days ride from Torrhen's Square where they planned to catch a boat to take them to Essos. Along the way, their group had received nothing more than curious glances by smallfolk; they probably assumed they were traveling mercenaries looking for work from lords. They decided to rest only a few days ride from Winterfell, giving the horses time to recover from the arduous journey.

Aegon and Arya had taken this opportunity to go hunting while Ser Barristan and Duck stayed back to protect their supplies. Arya watched as Aegon drew his bow and fired at a goose, killing it instantly. The flock it was with flew away in a frenzy, Aegon and Arya approaching to secure their kill. 

"Pretty good shot," Arya said nonchalantly.

"Oh, you think you can do better?" teased Aegon. "Come on, that shot was perfect." 

"You know I could do better," confidently said Arya. In truth, the shot was beautiful, but she couldn't resist teasing Aegon. 

"Prove it," said Aegon, stepping so close their chests were nearly touching.

Arya leaned closer and placed her hands on her hips, asking, "What do I get if I win?"

Aegon placed his mouth near her ear and whispered, so close that his breath tickled. Arya blushed when he described what he would do, finally grinning. "That good enough for you?" he smirked. 

Arya blushingly nodded, grabbing an arrow from her own quiver and nocking it. "We'll find something on the way back to camp. The other two must be starving by now. I know that I am." Arya and Aegon began their walk back through the woods to their makeshift camp. Both their hair had grown a bit longer since starting the journey, Arya's now reaching the nape of her neck. 

Arya reached over and rubbed Aegon's white blonde hair; she couldn't help but to grin at the sight of it. "You know, it's quite patronizing when you do that. I feel like a dog," joked Aegon.

Arya playfully pushed him. "You love it," she said, rolling her eyes. She did love it; though the blue looked good on him, she could tell that the blonde looked better. His head was still quite fuzzy and remained close to his head but he still looked very handsome. She couldn't wait to see what his hair looked like when it was longer; he would resemble a true Targaryen. "I still can't believe you won me that crown."

Aegon suddenly stopped. "I would do anything for you, Arya. I couldn't imagine anyone else winning," he answered. "Plus, it felt good to stick it to everyone who had wronged you." He suddenly changed the topic. "I wish I could see Winterfell."

"One day," she sadly said. "I haven't seen it in years. I don't want to risk my family catching up to us, though we definitely have made better time. I can't face them right now. I don't want them to be in a position where they are committing a crime against crown for not turning me in."

Aegon leaned over and kissed her head. "Yes, one day we will see it," he agreed. "And one day you will travel through Westeros not as a criminal, but as a queen."

Arya smiled, but the word queen made her uncomfortable. She couldn't understand how Aegon expected her to go from a trained killer to a queen. She didn't think that she was fit for the job or even wanted it but would cross that bridge when she got to it. For now, they needed to get out of Westeros. 

They approached the edge of the camp when Arya saw a rabbit at the clearing. She drew her bow, aiming, when suddenly the bunny lay dead, an arrow lodged in its neck. Confused, she released the tension on her arrow, turning towards Aegon to ask why he shot it when she noticed him staring in the distance, an arrow still nocked on his bow.

Dread grew in her stomach but before she could react, Aegon screamed, "Get down!" and moved to tackle her. Before he could reach her, three more arrows flew towards them, one severing the string of her bow, and the other two piercing Aegon in the chest. 

"Aegon!" she screamed, falling to the ground with him. He groaned in pain and tried to get up but couldn't move without help. Blood trickled out of the wound. Duck and Ser Barristan had heard the commotion and ran towards them, swords in hand, when a figure rode out of the woods.

Dressed in dark brown leathers and a black cloak, Ramsay Snow rode in atop a blood-red stallion. His red and grey eyes gleamed with excitement. He held a bow in his hands that was nocked with three arrows, pointing it at the group. He stayed a safe distance away, Arya immediately drawing  _Dark Sister_. She stood protectively in front of Aegon, glaring at Ramsay and wondering what she should do. 

"I am going to kill you, you fucking monster," she threatened. Ser Barristan took his place beside her and she heard Duck helping Aegon behind her.

"Lady Arya," tsked Ramsay. "Your manners are atrocious. First, you insult and threaten the crown, running away before you can be punished. Second, here I find you, traveling with a group of strange men, including the recently dismissed Barristan the Bold. Third, I watched as you scandalously showed a certain amount of intimacy with the man behind you." Ramsay shook his head and Arya tensed. "No, no, no. This won't do. You'll have to be taught a lesson."

Arya took a step forward but Ramsay released the arrows, all three landing right in front of her feet. She prepared herself to charge but realized he already nocked the bow again.

"This won't go well if you don't cooperate, Lady Arya," said Ramsay.

"What do you want?" she gritted out. "You would have killed us already if you wanted us dead."

"True," said Ramsay. His eyes slowly wandered down her body and he licked his lips with anticipation. Arya felt disturbed, like she was a piece of meat.

Ser Barristan stepped in front of her. "Leave her alone," the knight said. Though he wore no armor, he was willing to stand in front of her to protect her. "You are committing crimes in your vassal's land. Lord Stark will have your head for this."

Ramsay laughed. "Lord Stark no longer has any say over my actions. I am now under the command of King Robert, who ordered me to bring you back to the city by any means necessary. If I succeed, I will get legitimized." Arya's blood boiled at the name; she couldn't believe that he sent the evilest man in the Seven Kingdoms to find her. "I have no interest in the three with you, my lady, but I need them out of the way before we have our fun."

"There will be no fun," growled Arya.

"Your lover is loosing quite a bit of blood as we speak. Even with the pressure that the ginger is applying, he will bleed out or risk infection if he doesn't get help in the next three days. Fortunately enough, Winterfell is only a day and a half's ride from here, if you ride through the night," said Ramsay. "He's not dead because I want the other two to take him to the castle. An insurance of sorts that you will cooperate with me."

"What are you saying?" tensely asked Arya. "I will never cooperate with you." 

Ramsay grinned and said, “My father was glad that Lord Stark demanded that I join your family traveling here. He knew full well that I am only here as a sort of insurance against any Bolton attack on Winterfell, but he hoped that I would win you over. He wants better relations between our houses and figured it wouldn’t be hard to arrange a match between us. Who would ever want to marry someone with a killing Grace?”

“I don’t want to marry you,” flatly said Ramsay. “You may be a killer, but you’re too sentimental about human life. I was disappointed.”

“What do you want?” asked Arya, balling her hands into fists.

“To hunt you,” said Ramsay with a laugh. “The dwarf was right when he joked that I would want to hunt a human. I grew bored of hunting and carving animals when I was only seven years old. In fact, I’ve been hunting humans for years now. The stories you hear about the dreaded bastard Graceling of the Dreadfort are true!”

“You’re insane,” said Arya, horrified at his admission. “I could kill you with my little finger.”

“That’s if you get close enough to me,” arrogantly Ramsay. His arm didn’t seem to grow tired even though the string of his long bow had been pulled taunt for a few minutes now. “I can't kill you, by King Robert's command, but I do want to give you a fighting chance. It is too good of an opportunity to pass up." Arya stared into his pale grey and red eyes, glaring. 

“I’ll kill you,” snarled Arya, taking a step forward. She desperately wanted to attack Ramsay and wasn’t sure if she could dodge an arrow this close.

“Ah, ah, ah!” scolded Ramsay, smiling and shaking his head. “Let me tell you the rules of the game. I’ll let you go. You can run any direction you want. But in twenty minutes, I’ll follow. Not on my horse, of course. That’d be cheating. I didn’t even take my hounds with me. I want this to be the best hunt I’ve ever had, Lady Arya. And you should be the most dangerous game I’ve hunted. I win if I catch you. You win if you escape. I promise not to ride after the other three as long as you play my game. If you try to go for help, I'll hunt them down and kill them.”

Arya's voice wavered, finally realizing the gravity of the situation. "My father will kill you when he finds out about this," she finally said.

Ramsay snorted. "I am under the protection of the king. Now, I will give you two minutes to talk it over with your companions. After that, I'll really start killing people. I would decide quickly if I were you."

Arya hesitated before turning back to the others. "We are not doing this," firmly said Ser Barristan. "We are staying with you." His voice dropped to a whisper. "You distract him, and I'll rush—"

"There's no point," said Arya. "He's too good with a bow. You two don't stand a chance."

"The bastard wasn't lying," grimly said Duck. "He won't last another two days with these wounds. He needs a maester, and quick." She looked down at Aegon's pale face. He was barely conscious and though Duck's pressure helped, he needed real medical attention and a place to pull out the arrows without risking infection. She had no choice.

Arya gritted her teeth and grabbed Ser Barristan's arm. "Aegon will die if I don't play along with this. Ramsay will be too distracted by me to kill the rest of you. And if he does catch me, he won't kill me. He desires his legitimization too much to disobey King Robert. He will harm me, but I'll be alive. You need to take Aegon to Winterfell. Tell my brother Bran the situation; he will help you."

"Lady Arya," Ser Barristan was aghast. "I...I can't do this. I can't allow my king's betrothed put herself in this danger."

Arya raised her head and said, "Then your queen commands it. Leave me, and take him to safety. It is an order."

Ser Barristan's eyes filled with tears before he finally shook his head, "Please, be safe, my queen. I will come for you after we get him to safety."

Arya sadly smiled. "Thank you, Ser Barristan." She knelt by Aegon's side, realizing that he had fallen unconscious. She placed a kiss on his cheek and murmured, "I love you." Duck and Ser Barristan lifted him on to a horse, the three riding away. Arya turned back to Ramsay, glaring once again. 

"I will not run until they are a safe distance away and I know that you won't chase after them," she gritted out. She tried to keep herself calm and think of a way that she could kill Ramsay. Every time she shifted her stance a bit, his bow followed her thigh. She noticed it was not pointed at her heart, as he wanted to capture her alive. But it was foolish of him to give her a chance to run; he really should have tossed her irons on the ground in front of her to be sure she wouldn't harm him. But she had a fighting chance.

She glanced over her shoulder. The three were gone now, Duck depositing Aegon on the saddle behind him. They took off in a gallop, Arya hoping they would reach Winterfell fast enough to save him.  _They will,_ she tried to reassure herself.  _They have to._

"So," began Ramsay, staring at her almost curiously. "I overheard some interesting things...king, betrothed, queen...who is this man that you so desperately want to protect."

Arya only set her jaw and stared him down, refusing to give an answer. Ramsay, however, took this as an invitation to continue. "One violent eye, one blue eye. White blonde hair. Black clothes with red trim. Ser Barristan the Bold as his supporter. If I had to guess, this man is a Targaryen. But they are all dead, aren't they?"

"You don't know what you're talking about, Snow," spat out Arya. 

"Bolton," said Ramsay, shooting her a wink. She nearly shuddered. "I'm going to get the title soon enough, so why not start using it?"

"I am going to kill you—"

"Yes, yes," said Ramsay in a bored tone. "You've mentioned that quite a few times. Speaking of killing, we should begin to prepare. I want you to slowly remove your sword belt and place it on the ground in front of you. Then, I want you to remove all the daggers you keep on yourself. I know there is one hidden in your sleeve and two in each boot." Before Arya could ask how he knew it, he answered, "Your mother complained of all your hiding places at dinner in King's Landing one night."

Arya clenched her fists, remembering her mother's scolding tone when she got changed in front of her one night, asking her why she needed so many blades. 

"I'm not giving up my only weapons," she stubbornly insisted. "It won't be a fair fight."

"You're fighting to kill, I'm not," pointed out Ramsay. "If it were truly a fair fight, you wouldn't still be alive. I'm not budging on this, Lady Arya. If you refuse to give up your weapons, I'll shoot you in the leg and drag you back to King's Landing."

When she realized he wasn't bluffing, she sighed and did as he told. She noticed that her hands were shaking quite terribly, realizing how terrified she was. She couldn't let Ramsay get her hands on her. Even if he wasn't going to kill her, he would still harm her. And in the event that she was captured, she wouldn't allow herself to be taken back to King's Landing. No, she would die first. One by one, her weapons ended up deposited on the ground in front of her.

"I do believe that it has been enough time, Lady Arya," said Ramsay in a playful tone. His face dropped and quite menacingly he said, "I'll give you a twenty minute head start. Now run."

Arya didn't need to be told twice. Her heart already beating out of her chest, she took off into the woods of White Harbor. She immediately headed north, realizing this was the first time in years that she had been this close to home. If only she could actually enjoy it. Her feet flew over the ground and she ripped off the eyepatch she had tied over one eye so she could see the uneven forest floor better; it didn't matter if she was recognized now. She knew she didn't have a chance of outrunning Ramsay. Without a horse, she was at least a week from Winterfell. She would have to put enough distance between them to give herself enough time so hopefully, her companions would reach Winterfell and send help. 

 _Fear cuts deeper than swords,_ she thought to herself. But it did nothing to quell the fear in her stomach. Her luck seemed to be growing worse by the minute, as a light snow began to fall. With no cloak and no ability to build a fire, she could risk freezing. But that didn't matter; for now, she had to get away from Ramsay. 

Hours passed and she continued to run, though her pace was slowing. The woods darkened and she had trouble seeing a few feet in front of her. She forced herself to run on, not stopping for a moment. With the light fading, she didn't know if she would be able to keep running. 

She guessed that she had been running for nearly four hours when she experienced the worst pain of her life. She let out a scream of pain as an arrow pierced her arm; skidded across the forest floor as warm blood gushed out of the open wound. She fearfully glanced behind her to see a silhouette standing in the falling snow with a bow and arrow. Ramsay was nearly 300 paces away and had hit her with no problem. 

 _That’s impossible_ , she dizzily thought. _No man should be able to shoot that far in the dark._ His Grace was of a skill level that she had never experienced before. For the first time since she had discovered her Grace, she felt threatened by another person. She struggled to her feet and ignored the pain, continuing to run.

Ramsay called out, "You'll have to do better than that, Lady Arya!"

Arya gritted her teeth and stumbled onwards. Another arrow skewered her right shoulder but she managed to stay upright. She continued to press forward, fearfully glancing behind her to see Ramsay only thirty feet away. She desperately reached down and picked up a large rock, hurling it at his head. However weak her throw was, she managed to nail him directly in the forehead. His arrow flew wide and he fell backwards, roaring in pain.

Arya distracted him long enough to dash out of eyesight, stopping for a few moments by a tree when she thought she was far enough away. It began to snow harder and Arya had more difficulty seeing. For the first time in her life, she wondered if she would die. 

"Not today, not today, not today," she muttered. She suddenly dashed forward, pushing through the tree-line to only skid to a stop; she stood on the edge of a ravine where an icy river raged below. She the waters were black and swirling, only the chunks of ice showing the fast-moving current. 

Arya whipped around as Ramsay approached from the edge of the trees. "I have to admit, Lady Arya, you were quite disappointing," said Ramsay, tsking and shaking his head. He stopped fifteen feet away and Arya's chest heaved in her attempt to catch her breath. She noticed that both _Dark Sister_ and  _Needle_ now hung from his sword belt."You only lasted four hours. I'll have to make up for the lost time with this."

Ramsay pulled out a thin blade from his belt. "I don't know if you recognize this knife. I've heard that you don't enjoy torture. It's a flaying knife, one of my favorites. I use this on the women who don't give me good sport. The ones who do get a quick death. I rape them first, of course, but I only flay their corpses. I even name my dogs after them. But with your attempt, you won't get any sympathy from me. I may not be able to kill you, but King Robert said nothing about harming you.

“You’ll have to kill me to touch me,” weakly said Arya. The snow melted on her face. “And you’re too afraid to get close enough. Put down the bow, bastard. We’ll see who’s the stronger Graceling.”

“As tempting as that offer is, even I’m not foolish enough to risk that," he said, reaching behind him and tossing chains in front of her. "Put those on yourself and I'll let you pick which limb I'll flay." He pulled the bowstring taunt once again, pointing an arrow at her. 

"No," she answered, taking a step back. She glanced into the black, churning waters. 

Ramsay sighed and let his arrow fly, this one piercing her left thigh. “AHHH!” Arya screamed, dropping to one knee.

“There’s nowhere to go, Arya,” said Ramsay as he took a step forward. He dropped his bow and stepped forward, knife in hand. “I'll wonder where I'll start first.”

With three arrows in her, she knew there was no way she could fight off Ramsay. She glanced into the bay’s stormy waters one last time and closed her eyes, allowing herself to fall backwards.

The only thought she had as she fell was, _At leastit will be a quick death._ Then she hit the icy waters and was swept away by the current. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be up within a week.


	17. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya returns to Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops it's not a week later. Sorry friends, life has gotten in the way. Anyway, this chapter is kinda unedited. Just wanna get it out there. Thanks for your support!
> 
> I don't remember if I've mentioned this, but I've aged Aegon down a bit in my head. He is three years younger than Jon and two years older than Arya. This means that Jon was born at the start of Robert's Rebellion (that went on longer than canon) and Aegon was born a couple of years into it. This means that Rhaegar was still with Elia. Just glaze over these details, people. It's my flux capacitor in this fanfic. 
> 
> Also, fuck D&D for naming Jon 'Aegon'. I get Rhaegar was a prophecy obsessed asshole, but what kind of man names his second son after his heir who literally just got his head bashed in? Stupid stupid stupid.

Jon POV

Jon hadn't been in Winterfell since he was a boy, and he hadn't been to the crypts since years before that. The last time he had been down there, he and Robb tried to scare Sansa, Bran, and Arya. Robb lured them down and Jon covered himself in white flour from the kitchen, jumping out at them. Sansa screamed, Bran had cried, but Arya had only punched him in the arm and called him stupid. His heart ached for his little sister and he wished he had died sooner so he could have gone down to King's Landing with the rest of the family to visit her.

 _Lady Catelyn never would have allowed it_ , thought Jon. Though he hadn't seen the woman for years, he was sure her hatred for him hadn't diminished. Growing up, he had blamed himself for being a bastard. His presence was enough to stain the honorable Ned Stark's reputation and the world would be better off if he was gone. At least, that's what he had felt. But since Bran had told him the truth about his parentage, Jon knew nothing had been his fault. If he had been treated poorly, it was a result of the bitterness and immaturity of adults. 

He walked down the crypts, torch in hand, heading to the tomb of his mother. As he walked, he thought of the events that led him here. 

_It was as if one moment there was absolutely nothing and the next minute he was awake, gasping for air. Jon sat up from the bed, struggling to breathe and gripping at his chest. Ghost sat at the end of the bed, lifting his head when he stirred. When he looked down and saw that he was wearing nothing but a cloth and could see the scars where the cold blade had stuck him again and again and again, he began to panic more. He remembered his brothers luring him out of his chambers and turning on him, stabbing him and leaving him to die in the cold snow. He had died, that much he knew. But he was back and—"_

_"Easy, Jon," a somber voice called from beside him. Jon continued to clutch at his chest and gasp, turning to his side to see his brother Bran. Jon hadn't seen any of his family since he left for the wall. Bran's had grown, shedding his baby fat. He had a sharp, angular face with the high cheekbones of the Tullys. HIs auburn was straight and fell into his blue and grey eyes. Jon only was sure it was Bran because he sat in a wheeled chair. "I know this must be quite frightening. Take some deep breaths and try to calm yourself."_

_Jon finally seemed to catch his breath, grabbing the furs from the bed and wrapping them around his shoulders. "What...what happened? I...I was dead, wasn't I? My brothers, they turned on me. They stabbed me, let me die. Only because I allowed wildlings through the Wall. I shouldn't be here."_

_"Ser Thoros of Myr brought you back," answered Bran, turning to the other side of the room where two men stood. One wearing red robes with a shaved head and black, knowing eyes. The other was tall and noble with a black eyepatch. He had flowing, red-golden hair and wore clothes embroidered with purple lightning. "I called for him when I saw what was going to happen. Beric Dondarrion and his men took your body from the Wall and brought it here. Thoros is a red priest, you see, who has the gift to bring people back."_

_"I know it's difficult to wrap your head around it," said the handsome man, the one Jon now knew as Beric. "Gods know I still don't understand what is happening when Thoros does it to me. And he's brought me back half a dozen times."_

_"The Lord of Light saw you worthy to stay alive, Jon Snow. You should be proud of that," said Thoros._

_"How did you know?" Jon finally asked Bran. "Why didn't you do anything to stop this?"_

_"I only knew when it was too late to warn you," sadly answered Bran. "I knew I couldn't stop your death but I could bring you back if I tried hard enough. You have too big of a part in the wars to come to die as a bastard at the Wall. You are much more than that."_

_Jon gritted his teeth, growing angry. "Those men," he said. "The traitors. I am Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. They must pay for their crimes. I must go back." He struggled to stand._

_"The leader, Ser Allister Thorne was killed, torn apart by ghost. Your friend Ed had the others hung for their crimes. Gentle Samwell Tarly was the one to kick out their stools. Those traitors are dead, Jon. There is no justice for you at the wall. And now your watch has ended," said Bran. "You died, Jon. Your vows are fulfilled. You don't have to return."_

_The other two men took this cue to leave the room, giving them slight nods as Bran thanked them. Jon sat once more._

_"What am I supposed to make of this, Bran? I can't just stay at Winterfell. I...I have nowhere to go," Jon finally struggled out. "I can't stay here. Your mother won't allow the bastard to stay, even if Lord Stark wants me here."_

_Bran stared at him for a moment and sighed. "I suppose now is as good of a time as any to tell you," said Bran._

_"Tell me what?"_

_"The truth of your parentage," simply said Bran. Jon almost grew angry and told Bran to stop, as he knew all he needed to about his parentage. His mother was gone, and his father sent him to the Wall. Bran held up his hand and continued. "You are not the son of Ned Stark. You are the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. He never kidnapped her, really. You were born in a tower in Dorne."_

_Jon felt all breath leave his body, blood rushing to his ears as Bran continued, his words almost muted._

_"I've known for only six months. I've seen bits and pieces in visions but everything came together then. I didn't know if I should tell you because I had no idea what that information would do to you; I mean, you were locked in your vows at the Wall. And I thought it was father's place to tell you. Really, the only information I had was that your last name was Sand, not Snow. But then I saw a new vision only a few weeks ago. That Rhaegar set aside his wife Elia and married Lyanna. Then she had you. Robert's Rebellion was built on a lie. They loved each other. Your real name is Jaehaerys III Targaryen. You've never been a bastard, Jon. You are the true heir to the Iron Throne."_

_There was a long stretch of silence, the only sounds filling the room was that of Ghost's shuffling and the crackling of the fireplace._

_"You're lying," finally said Jon. Though when the words left his mouth, Jon himself didn't believe them. "Why would father lie to me?"_

_"Your uncle lied for so long because he knew what Robert Baratheon and others would do if they learned the truth. Afterall, Robert smiled when he saw the broken bodies of the last Targaryen babes spread below the Iron Throne. Robert has sent numerous assassins after your aunt, Daenerys Targaryen, across the Narrow Sea. He would do anything to see you destroyed," answered Bran. "I'm sorry to tell you like this, but you deserve to know."_

_"I...I need some time," said Jon._

_"Of course," nodded Bran. He began to wheel his chair out of the room, pausing to pat Jon on the leg. "I know that you've had a difficult life, Jon. But just know that though Ned Stark may not be your true father, he raised you like a son. And you were the best brother that any of us could have asked for." Bran left the room, leaving Jon alone to his thoughts._

That had been over a month ago. In that time, Jon had learned to accept what Bran had told him. He felt as if his entire life had flipped. He had no idea who he was anymore; his entire identity had been ripped from him. He was no longer the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, as his brothers had turned on him and betrayed him. He was no longer Ned Stark's son, as Rhaegar Targaryen was his father. He was no longer a bastard, and was the true heir to the Iron Throne. Last, his name wasn't even Jon, instead he was stuck with a truly ridiculous Targaryen name. 

For as confusing as a time as it was, Jon enjoyed being home. Without Lady Catelyn, Winterfell was a welcoming place. He helped Bran manage the household as best he could and was reunited with many members of the household. Maester Luwin was especially glad to see him, as he had told Bran there was no point in trying to bring him back when his body was brought through Winterfell's gates. He and Bran had agreed to keep his parentage secret for the time being. Jon was glad to be home, but he was planning to leave before the Starks returned. He didn't want to start trouble with Lady Catelyn and couldn't trust himself not to bring up his anger over his true parentage to his uncle. 

Jon found himself in the crypts for the first time in over a decade because he wanted to pay his respects to the woman that was truly his mother. Many had blamed her for a starting a war but Jon had learned that she was only following her heart. He couldn't fault her for that. As he paused in front of the statue, he wondered what life would have been like with her around. He knew his father, well, uncle,  had good intentions when he hid the truth of his true parentage from him, but even with constant threat of death, Jon thought that knowing he wasn't a bastard would have made his life easier. 

"Jon!" a voice called from the stairs of the crypts. "Quickly, we need your help!"

Jon took one last glance at the statue and ran to the foot of the stairs, seeing the older form of Harwin, the horsemaster, before him.

"What's wrong?" frowned Jon, taking the stairs two at a time. Jon followed Harwin as he guided him out of the crypts into Winterfell's courtyard, the man explaining as they walked.

"Your brother is in the midst of a vision that he can't be shaken out of. Three men entered the gates ten minutes ago, one so close to death that Maester Luwin isn't sure if he will survive. He is treating him now but the other two claim that they are in grave danger," answered Harwin. 

"Isn't this a job for the acting lord of Winterfell?" answered Jon. 

Harwin shot him a pointed look. "Titles be damned, son, these people and your brother need your help. Lord Brandon is still in the Godswood, hugging that weirwood with white eyes. You'll have to step in."

Jon swallowed and realized he was acting like a petulant child, fixing a determined look on his face as they walked into the courtyard. 

He saw two men standing there, one with bright red hair who was arguing with the guards of Winterfell and one who was much older with white hair. Both, however, looked skilled with swords. The older looked quite familiar but Jon couldn't quite place him.

"Who are you?" Jon called out. "And why are you here?"

"Are you Lord Brandon?" asked the older one. 

"No," harshly answered Jon. "I am his half-brother Jon and you'll speak with me. Now answer my questions."

The older boldly stepped forward. "This is Ser Rolly Duckfield, and I am Ser Barristan Selmy," he said. Jon dropped his jaw, as the man before him claimed to be the commander of Robert's Kingsguard. "We were attacked by Ramsay Snow while traveling. Your sister, Lady Arya Stark, was driven off by him almost two days. We don't know what happened to her," said Barristan, shaking his head. "She sent us to Winterfell to get help."

Jon had stopped listening as soon as he heard his sister's name. His breath hitched in his throat and he felt as if he might pass out. "Ghost!" he called out, the gigantic white direwolf falling into place beside him. "I need two saddled horses and one hundred men," he called out to his guards. He gripped  _Longclaw's_  hilt and narrowed his eyes at Ser Barristan. "Take me to where you last saw her."

 _I am coming, little sister,_  he thought. Jon had no more thoughts about his identity; it didn't matter who he was any longer. He only knew that he would fight for those he loved. 

* * *

The current swept her miles. Her body had gone numb as soon as she entered the water and the freezing cold liquid felt like tiny needles stabbing her everywhere. The pain was unreal and it was the worst in her head, especially near her ears. She wondered if she would lose them. She struggled to keep her head above the black, inky waters, especially with the three arrows sticking out of her limbs. But with a stubbornness set in her bones not to die, she kept kicking, and kicking, and kicking, somehow managing not to drown. When a rogue log floated down the raging current, she managed to grab ahold, keeping her head above water for the time being. She knew she couldn't keep this up forever but was too weak to direct her body to either shore.  

The current slowed a tiny bit and she managed to steer herself towards the shore. Ten feet, twenty, then thirty, finally enough to get her to the rocky shore. She dragged herself onto the icy rocks, cutting her hands in a few places. Her entire body was shaking terribly and she estimated that she had been in the water for about twenty minutes, giving her at least twenty minutes to clear the area before Ramsay caught up to the current and found her. Her wounds still ached but at least they had stopped bleeding for the moment. She managed to stand and walk a few hundred feet away from the stream under the shelter of some fir trees. With shaking hands, Arya took off her clothes and wrung them out, putting them back on and huddling her knees close to her body.

She was still freezing and risked dying of hypothermia, but she knew she was closer to Winterfell than ever; she was now only thirty miles away, as she knew this river from her childhood. Arya stood and began the walk back to the castle when she heard a twig crack behind her.

She slowly turned to see Ramsay riding into the trees, sitting atop his blood red stallion. He held his bow in his hands and  _Dark Sister_ and  _Needle_ now hung from his hip. His face was grim, no hint of the delight of the hunt remained on it. 

"No," weakly said Arya. She thought she had more time. "Y-you said you wouldn't ride. I had time. I had time to escape."

Ramsay pressed his lips into a thin, terse smile. "I said that, didn't I?" he mused. "But you actually might have made it back to the castle. Even I am willing to admit defeat, and unfortunately our game cannot go on any longer. Go down easy, Lady Arya. You won't last out here without my help."

Ramsay slid off his horse, relinquishing the tension on his bow string and dropping it to the ground. Instead, he took out his flaying knife into one hand and the chains into the other, cautiously approaching her.

"Fight me, bastard," she spat out, though she knew she would probably lose this fight. On her shaking legs, she prepared herself.

She heard a low growl coming from the forest and padding footsteps approaching. Ramsay's horse nickered and fled from the clearing. Ramsay seemed to hear it, too, and he turned towards the sound. The growl grew louder and with a snarl, a dark silver blur launched itself at Ramsay, tearing out his throat. A fountain of blood spouted from his neck and he didn't even have time to scream.

The wolf...no, the direwolf turned to Arya with golden eyes she would always know.

"Nymeria..." she breathed, falling to her knees with relief. 

Nymeria had changed since she had abandoned her almost a decade before. When Arya had last seen her, she was the size of a large dog. Now, Nymeria was the size of a pony, with paws bigger than Arya's face and teeth longer than her hand. Her fur was still the same dark grey with lighter silver streaks as it was before, but the wolf looked so much more menacing.

Arya reached out her shaking hand and Nymeria sniffed it for a moment before nuzzling her. She dug her fingers into the wolf's soft fur, finally burying her face in it and letting down the wall of emotions that had allowed her to survive this long. Like a dam bursting, she began to sob, finally allowing herself to fear the terror and exhaustion. Nymeria gently licked her wounds and whined when Arya winced from the pain. 

“It’s alright, girl." She smiled and let out a hoarse laugh when Nymeria licked her face, patting the wolf on her large head. Her tail thumped on the ground in excitement.

Arya walked over to Ramsay's body, Nymeria guarding her every step of the way, and struggled to pull of her sword belt. She finally got it free and put it around her own waist once again, feeling the security of her blades. She stared down at his mangled corpse, the blood melting the snow around him, and resisted the urge to spit on his body. She had come so close to dying and still wasn't safe just quite yet. 

“Let’s get a fire going, okay?” The wolf barked in agreement.

Arya used the wolf to help her stand, gathering the wood she had collected and limping away from Ramsay’s body without another glance. Though she was safe from Ramsay, she was still very injured and freezing. She made it a few hundred feet away and began to collect more wood, Nymeria leading her to an overhanding rock that was sheltered from the snow.

She sat down leaning against the wolf, glad for her warmth. She held a narrow stick vertical in her hands, expertly spinning the wood between her fingers until she saw it spark. She blew the orange embers into her tinder, watching as bright flames burst forth. She continued to add larger pieces of wood until she had a fire going, holding out her shaking hands towards it. She instantly felt a bit better and the feeling had returned to her hands enough so that she was able to begin binding her wounds.

She had abandoned her cloak when she first landed in the water and had to resort to using pieces of her socks. Though she couldn't pull out the arrows herself (she didn't have the strength) ripped long lengths of wool off of the socks and tied them around the arrows. She hissed in pain as she tied off the wound on her leg, Nymeria lifting her head to stare. Arya had to use her teeth to help her tie the one on her arm. When the three wounds were bound and Arya felt sufficiently safe, she added three more logs to the fire and then settled against Nymeria. The direwolf nuzzled her giant head against her body, keeping her warm.

 _Tomorrow morning, I'll start for Winterfell_ , she told herself. She had dozed off for a couple of hours when a loud howl made her jump awake.

Nymeria rose to her feet, Arya confident that the wolf would be able to protect but nonetheless pulled  _Dark Sister_ into her hands.

A gigantic white direwolf with blood red eyes burst into the clearing, Arya wondering if it was truly him. He and Nymeria didn't glare, but rather sniffed one another suspiciously before both recognized one another and wagged their tails, playfully beginning to wrestle.

"Ghost," Arya said with a smile. A lone rider dressed in all black came forth, Arya holding her breath. He dismounted and as got closer, realizing she was under the rocks, Jon ran forward as fast as his legs could carry him.

"Arya!"

He had grown. He was taller than Robb or even father. He was wiry with a graceful walk to him. His brown curls were longer than they were in childhood, nearly reaching his shoulders. A sword with the white head of a wolf sat on his hip. His face held many scars, proof that he had survived much since she had last seen him. He finally reached her and gasped at her wounds.

"Oh gods, Arya...you'll be okay. We'll get you to the castle and get you patched up."

Arya's eyes filled with tears and she had never been happier to see someone. _Dark Sister_ clattered to the ground. "Jon," she said, holding out her arms. Jon hugged her as she showered him with kisses. "I'm alright. I'll be okay. You came for me."

"I will always come for you, little sister," said Jon, cupping her face and pressing a kiss to her forehead. He laughed and ruffled her hair. "Leave it to you to finally chop it all off."

Arya turned serious. "The three I was with were riding for Winterfell. One was severely injured. Is he alright?" She wrung her hands anxiously. 

Jon apologetically shrugged. "I don't know, Arya. Maester Luwin was patching him up. Ser Barristan Selmy and the other took me to where they last saw you and Ghost helped track. As we got I had the other men fan out." Jon suddenly stuck two fingers in his mouth, his companions repeating the motion across the forest so they knew to return to the castle.

Arya suddenly began to laugh. "This wasn't how I imagined our reunion. I've dreamed of this moment so many times that you would think I would have come close to imagining it."

"Nor did I." Jon smiled and helped her to her feet, walking her over to his horse. Getting her to mount was a struggle but with Jon's help, she was suddenly atop the horse.

"My sword." She pointed back towards the clearing, Jon jogging towards and picking it up with a smile.

"Valyrian steel. Leave it to you to find one. I have one too, little sister. Does it have a name?"

" _Dark Sister_ ," she answered, Jon's eyebrows raising. "Yes, the blade Visenya Targaryen wielded. I got it in Braavos. Though, my favorite sword will always be _Needle_."

She gestured to her side where the skinny sword still hung. Jon grinned and swung himself up himself up after her, urging the horse to walk. The wolves trailed behind them. 

"Glad my lessons stuck with you." 

The smile faded from Arya's lips as she came to a sudden realization. "Jon, why are you here? The Night's Watch rarely allows men to leave the Wall and the Lord Commander never leaves."

Jon simply cleared his throat and Arya could tell that something was wrong. "That's a story for another time. I need to hear what happened to you, Arya. Why were you with those men, Arya? And why was Ramsay Snow hunting you? I saw his body a few hundred feet away."

Arya sighed and began to explain the horrific ordeal, though with Jon beside her, she knew she was safe from harm. 

* * *

Jon POV

Arya had fallen asleep against his chest again. He gently shook her awake as the rode through the gates of Winterfell telling her that they had arrived. Jon had kept twenty men with them, still afraid that Ramsay had brought more men. He sent others ahead to ready Maester Luwin and the household for their arrival. 

It took them an entire day to reach Winterfell with one stop along the way so Arya could sleep for a bit. She didn't do much sleeping, however, and only tossed and turned in pain. Jon foolishly had brought no milk of the poppy or medicine with him and feared that her wounds would get infected. He refused to pull out the arrows, as he was terrified that they would start a blood flow that he wouldn't be able to stop. 

Arya assured him that if she had survived this long without any bandages or medicine that she would survive a bit longer. Jon himself had ridden with arrows in him along, courtesy of Ygritte, and knew how painful it could be. Arya never voiced her complains. After hearing her story, Jon was shocked that she was still alive. She had gotten shot three times, fallen into a frozen river, swam to safety, and managed to warm herself and start her own fire before she died of hypothermia. Their father had warned them that within fifteen minutes of falling in freezing water they would be dead. Arya managed to not only survive a raging river, but used it to her advantage. 

In her exhausted state, Arya managed to smile at the courtyard. It was in a bit of a chaotic state, many people gathering around them to see what was wrong. "Gods, it's good to be home. Even like this."

Jon swung down from his horse and helped Arya off, refusing to set her on her feet. He told the household to give them some space and ignored her protests to be put down, instead holding her.

"Jon!" Ser Rodrik Cassel strode up to him, his hardened face softening at once when he saw Arya. "Maester Luwin is ready and waiting in your chambers along with Lord Bran. Will she be alright?"

"I'm fine," snapped Arya. "If Jon would put me down, everyone could see that. It's good to see you, Ser Rodrik"

Jon only rolled his eyes. "I'm sure she will be okay, but she cannot walk in this state." He shot her a pointed look when she glared. "The sooner we get to Maester Luwin, the sooner you can get back on your feet."

"It is good to see you too, Lady Arya." He still looked quite concerned but was glad to see that she was still in good spirits.

"Arya!" The redheaded fellow named...Sparrow, Grouse, something like that ran forward, Ser Barristan at his heels. "Are you alright? What happened to you? Where is Snow?"

"I'm fine, Duck," smiled Arya. "And he's dead. All thanks to Nymeria here." 

The direwolves were still trailing behind the two; Nymeria needed to be cleaned, as her muzzle was still spotted with blood. 

"We shouldn't have left you." Ser Barristan looked anxious. "We serve you just as much as—"

"Enough." Arya's voice was calm but firm. "I won't hear anymore about this. None of you would be alive if you tried to stay. He was five steps ahead of us, believe me. Griff...is he..."

Arya trailed off and bit her lip.

"He's going to be fine," smiled Ser Barristan. "He'll need a bit of time to recover, but he'll be okay. He's asleep now. Don't worry about him, Lady Arya. He'll come when he's awake."

Jon neared the door to his chambers and in a clipped tone he thanked the men but sent them away. In truth, he didn't like that they had abandoned Arya no matter what she said. He never would have left her side and they should have done the same.

Arya, seemingly reading his mind, shook her head and said, "I sent them away, Jon. They would be dead if we refused to play Ramsay's game."

Jon used his boot to shove open the door to his chambers, calling out, "Maester Luwin. She has three arrow wounds." 

Jon set her down at the bed and watched as Arya grinned at Bran. She leaned forward and clasped his hand. "It's good to see you, Bran. You've grown up."

Bran smiled and squeezed her hand. "So have you, though your sense of style hasn't matured. Are you trying to give mother a heart attack with your hair?" Arya laughed.

"Humor, that's a good sign," said Maester Luwin who approached with instruments in his hands. "Hello, Arya. Let us see what we are working with here."

"Hello, Maester Luwin." Arya laid back on the bed as Maester Luwin cut away her clothes, leaving her in only her small clothes. "I think it's pretty obvious. You're looking at the work of a madman."

"Yes," frowned Maester Luwin. "These will be painful, but you are in no danger. The arrows hit no major arteries or organs, nor did they go through your body. The shoulder, arm, and leg were enough to slow you down but not seriously harm you."

"He wanted me alive," spat out Arya. "Said the King sent him and wanted me back with no permanent damage." Maester Luwin winced at that and Bran only looked concerned. Jon was enraged by those words but kept quiet for Arya's sake. 

Maester Luwin handed Arya a cup to drink and deftly began to pull the feathers from the ends of the arrow, explaining what he was going to do. "Once you finish that, I'll have to pull out the arrows. The milk of the poppy will numb the pain but it is still going to hurt. I will use a salve after that may sting a bit. Then, I will bandage your wounds." 

Arya nodded and drained the liquid from the cup, Jon kneeling by her side when he noticed how afraid she looked. He offered his hand and assured her that she would be alright.

Arya shook her had at the offer of his hand and grimaced. "I'm going to break it if I hold it."

Her eyes began to cloud a bit with the milk of the poppy and Jon gently smoothed her short hair back from her forehead. 

"Just breathe, Arya." Bran's voice was calm and reassuring.

Maester Luwin took the end of the end of the arrow in her shoulder and began to count. When he reached two, he yanked the arrow out with ease and immediately replaced the spot with a piece of cloth, telling Bran to lean forward and apply pressure. Arya cried out but didn't move too much, and Luwin quickly did the same with the other wounds. He quickly checked to confirm that no pieces of the arrowheads had broken off and he then applied a salve, quickly bandaging the wounds.

"I'm alright." Arya wiped away the tears that rolled down her face.

"You did well, Arya." Maester Luwin offered her a kind smile. "It is good to have you back in Wintefell. I'll come to check on you within the hour, though you will probably be asleep. Jon, Bran, you may stay for a few more moments but she needs to rest."

Arya's eyelids had begun to grow heavy and she smiled at the maester, thanking him for his help. With that, the three were left alone in the room.

"I missed you so much." Arya's voice was barely a whisper. "I wanted so badly to come home. It was nice to see everyone who visited, but it all went to shit. I should have known that the king wouldn't have made it easy. Now I've put everyone in danger by coming here. The king was already angry with father in King's Landing. He'll punish you. This is my fault."

"Never say that!" Jon's harsh tone even surprised himself. "None of this was your fault, Arya. As your family, it is our job to protect you no matter what happens. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives."

"Winter is coming," confirmed Bran. "We need to look after one another. I only saw what was going to happen to you this morning." Bran pursed his lips and shook his head. "What good is a green vision Grace if you can't protect your family? Jon was already gone and searching for you by the time I awoke. Though I tried to help by bringing Nymeria to you."

"That was you?" Arya grinned a bit. "Didn't know that you were that bloodthirsty. Maybe you have the killing Grace."

Bran laughed. Jon was surprised to hear the sound, as since he had returned to Winterfell, he found Bran to be much colder than he used to be. 

"You don't have a killing Grace, Arya." Bran smiled at his sister and leaned back a bit in his chair. "I've wondered about it for a long time, as a killing Grace has never been proven to actually exist. But your experiences in the past few days confirmed my thoughts. No one, and I mean absoulutely no one, could have survived what happened to you. You were chased through a snowstorm by an expert hunter, were shot three times, and fell into a frozen river. You didn't bleed out, freeze, drown, or collapse from exhaustion. Even after Ramsay was dead, you managed to build a fire with your half-frozen fingers. You aren't a killer, Arya. You are a survivor."

"Tell that to my victims."

Jon added, "Killing can't account for all the things you can do. You never tire. Or suffer from the cold, or from hunger. Even as a child, you always knew which way was north, south, east, and west. You built a fire in the middle of a snowstorm."

"Every fight you've been in has been one for your survival. From those first bandits in the Wolfswoods to every man King Robert ordered you to kill, you were just doing what you had to to protect yourself. Even killing Meryn Trant was protection from future abuse. To survive you had to kill but that doesn't mean you are simply a killer," Bran explained.

Arya's eyes had grown wide, though the milk of the poppy was finally taking its toll. "I'm not only a killer," she numbly said.

Jon stood from the side of her bed, kissing her head. "No, you're not. Get some rest, little sister. We'll see you when you awaken."

Arya was snoring softly before Jon and Bran even left the room. He was glad those were the last words she heard before she fell asleep. 

* * *

Arya POV

When she finally awoke from her dreamless sleep, she looked directly into Nymeria's golden eyes. The direwolf had stood when she heard her stirring and stared directly at her; her coat was cleaned of dirt and blood and now shined. Someone must have cleaned her while Arya slept. She tried to greet the wolf but found her throat too dry to do so, instead reaching and grabbing the cup of water that sat by her bed. Her hands no longer shook and though her wounds ached a bit, she felt well-rested and strong. She took a sip and finally said hello to the wolf.

Nymeria jumped, placing her front paws next to Arya. Her tail dramatically thumped against the furniture and she showered Arya's face with kisses. 

"Relax, girl." Arya laughed and pushed the wolf away, slowly pushing off her furs and standing. Winterfell's floors were warm and welcoming under her feet. She had been cleaned while she slept and now wore new small clothes and a white shift. Her bandages were neat and had no new bloodstains; they obviously had been changed recently. She used the side of the bed to stay standing, grabbing the cane that had been conveniently placed by the side of her bed. She grabbed the cane and hobbled out into the hall, intent on finding someone to speak to. Nymeria followed at her heels. 

She heard voices coming from down the hall in one of the guest chambers. She hovered outside the door for a moment before hearing Bran's and Jon's voices. She then entered without knocking, surprised at the scene before her. Three pairs of eyes turned to her the moment she entered but she only met one. Aegon stared at her with an intensity she had never seen before. She rushed to him before he could say a word, throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing tight. He winced and Arya realized she pressed against his wounds. 

"I thought he killed you." Her voice was muffled as she pressed into his neck. 'I thought you were dead. I thought—"

"I'm alright." His tone was soft, though underneath, she sensed some anger. "Are you?"

"Do you need Maester Luwin?" She turned to meet Jon's anxious grey eyes. 

"I'm fine," she said. "I don't need him yet. What about you, Griff? Are you alright?"

"You can drop the Griff. We know who he is," evenly said Bran. 

"Did you tell them?" She was surprised, as Aegon didn't trust his true identity with many people. 

"No," answered Aegon. "Your brother saw it in his visions. He told me that I have nothing to fear. Only the two of them know. And I'm okay. Maester Luwin has me on bed rest for a week while my wounds heal."

"So you've all met then." Arya smiled. "This is very strange for me, you know. Feels like my two separate lives are colliding."

"I think it's time Jon tells you something, Arya."

"May we go somewhere private?" uncomfortably said Jon. Arya frowned, wondering what was upsetting him. 

"There is no need. Aegon's Grace already allowed him to know." Bran expectantly looked towards Aegon.

Aegon gave a sheepish smile. "Sorry, Jon. I didn't want to give it away that I knew. Thought you deserved the chance to tell me. I'm happy, really. Always wanted a sibling."

"Sibling?" incredulously asked Arya. "I'm sorry, can someone fill me in on what is happening? Jon, what is going on?"

Though the words seemed to pain him, Jon managed to struggle everything out. How he was killed by his men and brought back by a red priest summoned by Bran. How Bran had seen his true parentage, and that he was not at all a bastard and instead was a prince, the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. His name was Jaeherys III Targaryen. Father had lied for years to protect him from Robert's wrath and only Bran had told him the truth. He spent is entire life believing that he was nothing and now he was a hidden piece in an important game.

Arya was silent for a few moments. She looked between Aegon and Jon, trying to find any discernible similarities, only settling on their mouths, the large shapes of their eyes, and their height. She finally looked up at Jon once again, meeting his sad and anxious eyes. She could tell that this was weighing upon him heavily. 

"It doesn't matter what your name is. Ned Stark will always be your father, Jon. He raised you to be the man that you are today. And you will always be my brother." She suddenly dove forward, pulling Jon into a tight hug. They held each other for a long time, Arya realizing that Jon was crying.

When they finally let go, Arya laughed and joked, "It doesn't matter anyway. When Aegon and I married, you two would become good-brothers."

Even Bran laughed at that joke, but Arya noticed that Aegon didn't even crack a smile.

"What's the matter with you?" Arya harshly said to Aegon. "You've been a bad mood this whole time."

"It's nothing." Aegon crossed his arms and refused to make eye contact.

"This isn't about Jon, is it?

"Of course not!" Aegon roared. Arya was startled at that sound, as she had never heard him yell before. "It's about you! How you faced a sadist alone with no weapons for no goddamned good reason besides your pride."

"My pride?" Arya snarled. Jon and Bran took this opportunity to leave the room. "I was protecting you and Selmy and Duck. You were dying, Aegon! I was watching you bleed out right in front of me. I had to play along, otherwise he would have killed you all."

"You shouldn't have gone off on your own. Your life is so much more important than mine or anyone else's. I would have every person in Westeros die if it meant that you lived." Arya finally noticed how his voice was shaking. "Do you know what he was going to do to you when he caught you? I saw it in his mind, Arya. He...he..."

Aegon finally broke down and cried. 

Arya sat on the side of his bed, rubbing his shoulders. She realized he wasn't truly angry; he was terrified at the thought of losing her.

"I couldn't do nothing, Aegon. We're in this together, do you understand? I will do everything in my power to protect you as I know you will do the same for me. That's what makes us so strong."

Aegon finally looked up at her, his blue and purple eyes intense. "I can't lose you, Arya. You are my reason for living, my everything. I was a foolish boy with no concept of responsibility or courage before I met you. You've made me into the person I am today."

"You won't lose me. I promise." Arya gently kissed him. 

"Promise me that you'll never put yourself in danger like that again. Promise me that if you have the chance to escape, you'll take it."

"I can't do that. But I promise that I will be by your side until we are old and grey, proud of what we have turned the Seven Kingdoms into."

That seemed to settle Aegon enough, and he cupped her face and kissed her like it was their first time.

* * *

"This was my favorite place in Winterfell." Arya guided Aegon into the glass gardens of Winterfell, immediately smiling when the humid air hit her face. He seemed to enjoy the heat too, as he was having some difficulty with the cold. 

"Not the Godwood?" Aegon seemed surprised, as she had gushed about the place when she took him there earlier in the day.

"I do love it, but father never really wanted us to play there. I understand it now, as it is a holy place. Here, though, we were free to run around as we pleased. And nothing beat staring out into the snow outside, only separated by a thin sheet of glass."

It was currently flurrying outside and Aegon smiled when he saw what Arya mentioned. They sat on a bench together, Aegon grunting with the effort. They had been in Winterfell for two weeks now. Arya's wounds were essentially healed but Aegon's were still a bit raw. Maester Luwin said that the abdomen would take longer to heal. She was thankful that he was around to help them, as Aegon may not have survived his wounds.

He had been getting along well with both Jon and Bran. Bran still was his aloof self, spending much of his time in the Godswood, but he and Jon had spent a significant about of time together. It was strange for both of them to reconcile the fact that their father had two wives and started a war for a woman he had just met, but they seemed to be helping each other through it. As far as she knew, neither of them talked about the fact that Jon was technically the true heir to the Iron Throne, as he was born years before Aegon. She had spoken to Jon about it, and her brother...no, cousin...didn't seem to have much of an opinion other than the fact that he didn't want to rule. 

"It is beautiful." Aegon eyed a blue winter rose, smiling and mentioning the tourney. 

"Aegon." She interrupted him, biting her lip and wondering how to word what she would say next. "You know that Jon has no interest in ruling, right? He said he had enough of a taste of it with being Lord Commander."

Aegon smiled. "I know you're concerned with how we'll get along. But you forget that you are the most important person in both of our lives. We are bound to get along because we have so much in common with you. And I know that he has no interest in ruling. It was one of the first things he said to me when we went down to the crypts to see his mother. I trust Jon because he trusts you, Arya, and he would do anything for you."

Arya smiled, swallowing a lump in her throat. "You have no idea how much that means to me." She suddenly laughed, looking around the gardens. "I know the circumstances that brought us here were difficult, but I am so happy that you got to see Winterfell."

Aegon agreed, going on about his favorite parts of the ancestral home. 

They heard footsteps approaching to see a Hodor pushing Bran in his wheeled chair. Arya greeted her brother, ruffling his neatly combed hair.

"Aegon, may I have a moment alone with my sister? Jon is in the kitchens sneaking a meal before supper if you'd like to see him."

"Will do." Aegon slowly stood and kissed Arya on the cheek, leaving her and Bran alone. 

There was silence for a moment as they both watched the snow outside. Finally, Bran somberly told her, "You'll have to leave in the next three days. Our family will be here soon once again. I don't imagine you'll want to be here when they arrive."

Arya sighed. "Back to reality. And I do not want to be here. There would be too much to explain. You won't tell them I was here, will you?"

"Too many people saw you, Arya. It would be too hard to hide. I will tell them that you are safe and happy and that Jon is with you. It would be no good for him to stay here and he has already claimed to be your sworn shield." Arya smiled when she heard that, as Jon was sure to tell her even without a Grace, he would do a better job protecting her than she did. "I will tell father that Jon knows who he really is and that you all will return to Westeros one day."

"To fight a war against them." 

"You will return to Westeros for the Iron Throne, but that will not be the true war. There is a real war coming, Arya. Not one about some spiked chair or banners or gold or glory. No, this war will decide the fate of Westeros. The Long Night is coming."

Arya scowled. "Stop speaking in riddles, Bran. What danger are we facing? And if it is so bad, why are we leaving?"

"The Night King will rise once again and the dead will come with him. In four years time, the Wall will fall and the White Walkers will invade Westeros. When that happens, we will need allies. Allies on this continent and on others. You need to leave Westeros to gain those allies."

Arya didn't question Bran on his warning of the White Walkers because she believed every word of what he said. "I'm not exactly a diplomat, Bran."

"You will have to be." Bran's tone was firm. "Go to Meereen, where you will find Daenerys Targaryen, the dragon queen. Introduce her to Jon and Aegon, and unite their family once and for all. Daenerys has money, resources, an army, and three dragons. If you can convince her to help, we may have a chance in this war."

"There is no other way to go about this, is there?"

"No. I'm sorry Arya. You deserve a break, but unfortunately the world will not rest until spring."

Arya looked at her brother, impressed with the man he had grown into. She leaned forward and hugged him. "I don't want to leave."

Bran gave her a smile. "Don't worry, Arya. We'll see each other again."

Arya trusted his words, but she was sure to hold him tighter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, poll. I don't like incest, but I know a lot of people like Jon and Dany together. But tbh, I don't think Jon would really go for it if he knew he was a Targaryen. So, are you guys interested in Jon/Dany or do you want to see him with someone else? Not Sansa or Arya though. I was thinking maybe Arianne Martell but I am open to any suggestions. Let me know what you guys want.
> 
> There won't be another chapter for a while because I go back to school soon (whoops). I'll try to write when I'm there but we all know how I am with that. Anyway, this fic is never abandoned!


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